


And the Days Will Never Be Long Enough

by gooddaysunshine



Series: Colorado Fix-It [2]
Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I do want to say that Lex and Ethan will not be a prominent pairing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content, but they'll be there nonetheless, colorado fix it, idk i have a lot of thoughts and wanted to keep writing about colorado
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24991237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooddaysunshine/pseuds/gooddaysunshine
Summary: A smattering of snippets of what could have been in Colorado. Kelly and Ben get to build their lives. Emma and Paul get to escape Hatchetfield, and they meet some familiar faces along the way.A continuation of the world imagined in A Stranger's Heart Without a Home.Title taken from The Sun and the Moon by Annalise Emerick
Relationships: Lex Foster/Ethan Green, Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Series: Colorado Fix-It [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840777
Comments: 106
Kudos: 80





	1. A Magical Baggage Claim

**Author's Note:**

> Well I couldn't leave Colorado alone, so here we are.

“You ever think about how weird this is?”

Emma leaned over the back of the couch, propped up on her knees. The cat was curled up right in the crevice between her and the cushions. One hand absentmindedly scratched behind Janis’s ears. The other was outstretched over the couch, holding a lowball glass that was half full of some expensive Japanese whisky Paul had picked up for her birthday. He sat on the other end of the couch with one leg tucked underneath him. In his hand was a stemless glass with just about a finger’s worth of a deep purple liquid. A twenty year old port she had decided on a few months ago, just before Christmas. He tilted his head to the side with an arched brow.

“How weird what is?”

Four years had passed since the disaster at Hatchetfield. They had been informed that no one else made it off the island. It had been a miracle they were able to go into any sort of protection program at all. There were heavy implications that many of the P.E.I.P. officers were hellbent on following the orders they had been given: make a clean sweep. Which would have been a huge bummer after everything they had to do to keep each other alive and make it out of a singing and dancing hellscape. Yet there they were. Two different people both literally and figuratively. Surviving the end of the world really changes a person and how they handle life afterward. They also had completely new identities. Ben Bridges and Kelly King owned a house together and had been married for a decade. Paul Matthews and Emma Perkins were long dead with all their family and friends.

“I don’t know,” she continued, taking a sip of her drink. When she pulled the glass away, she drew her top lip into her mouth to lick away the excess, but found herself lost in thought. Well, they were thoughts of sorts. She was just sucked into some strange orbit he seemed to have around him. It was something she realized that very first day. Constantly reaching out for him in the midst of sheer terror. The swell of relief she felt not just to be rescued from her psychotic biology professor’s muder suicide plot, but because he came back from the high school. There was some sort of magnetism about him she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “This whole thing… us and everything here.” The cat nudged at her hand. “Well, not you, Janis. You’re the most normal person in this fucking… place.” 

He glanced up at the ceiling as if to consider her comment. Drawing his own glass to his lips, he took a large mouthful of wine, letting it sit in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I guess. I think it’s mostly a situational kind of weirdness, though. Like, the way we got here is… bizarre is kind of an understatement.” He brought his eyes back down to her with a small smile on his face. “But overall, I don’t think this is too weird at all. Not really at least.”

This time, she cocked her head to the side. Her arm slung itself over the back of the couch. “How do you figure?” she inquired, tapping the tip of her index finger against the glass. Everything had become strangely domestic. She imagined this had to be what Jane felt like coming home on a Friday night to Tom. To just sit and talk for a while after chaotic work weeks. Quietly while a fire roared on in the background. Emma was well aware that Jane was not a whisky girl, though, so she likely would have gone for the port. But no less, nights like this one made her wonder what it would have been like to be back in Hatchetfield as Emma Perkins, venting to Paul Matthews about shitty customers at Beanies or Zoey getting all up in her shit. Hearing about how Mr. Davidson made them have another pointless meeting at the end of the day after he had to listen to Ted and Bill bicker over something stupid.

His lips pressed together in thought. She leaned her head down against her arm to watch him, a small smile coming over her. “I don’t know. I mean, maybe it’s not  _ normal,” _ he agreed as he swirled the liquid around in his glass. “I don’t know, Em. Does this not just feel… normal to you?”

“No,” she answered immediately. His face visibly fell. A poker face wasn’t his strong suit, a fact she liked to remind him of often. Without lifting her head, the smile on her face grew as she nudged his knee with her foot. “Good? Yes. Normal? Hell no.” He exhaled heavily through his nose before pounding back another large gulp of wine. “Oh come on, don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Fine, don’t be upset.”

“I’m  _ not _ \--”

“Paul, things are good,” she reiterated while taking a sip of her own drink. “Just because things feel good… or fucking… I don’t know… right. That doesn’t mean they have to be normal. Because I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but things are  _ never _ going to be fucking normal.”

“Do you ever wish they were?” he wondered, propping his head up in the palm of his hand. His fingers gently but nervously scratched against the side of his head. “Y’know, back in Hatchetfield. Going on normal dates. Meeting each other’s family and friends. All that… shit I guess. Do you ever wonder about it?”

“Well,” she hummed, sitting up straight again. She pushed a loose strand of hair out of her face. “Yeah, I do sometimes. Not a lot, but I’ve ever wondered what it would have been like if you had gotten your head out of your ass sooner.”

“ _ Hey. _ ”

“Dude, you chose to actually start talking to me the day before the world ended. Your timing is fucking terrible.”

“Well, you’re married to me, so there.”

“No, no, no.” She leaned forward, disturbing Janis in the crook of her lap. Her hand landed hard on his knee. “Kelly is married to Ben.” She gestured between them. “ _ We _ just have a good thing going here between us.”

“And what kind of thing is that exactly?”

“What do you mean?”

“What kind of thing is this?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re a little shit.”

“It’s been three years, Emma.”

“You just want me to say it.”

“Yes, obviously that’s what I want.”

Her head dropped down heavily onto his knee. A loud groan left her. She had told him about all the years of constant running. All the fear of commitment. Just being so scared to be vulnerable. To be open. To allow any person in. It was easy in Guatemala. The only responsibility she had was herself. As long as she lived another day to climb another mountain, she considered it a good day. There was no need to stick to one place or person for very long. No one wanted that from her either. The whole commitment thing. The spouse. The house. The dog. The white picket fence. It wasn’t her thing. That was all Jane, yet here she was in the house with the technical spouse. There wasn’t a dog or a picket fence, but the cat was pretty great. As the time ticked on, she became more like their cat than just his. 

“I guess, you’re kind of my boyfriend,” she mumbled against his leg. His fingers ran gently along the back of her neck. The contact sent a wave of chills down her spine. Gentle like most of his touches. Soft in a way she wasn’t sure she would ever get used to. Not in a way that felt like he was going to break her if he pressed down any harder. It was almost as if he were trying to decipher the nonexistent braille on her skin. Attempting to unravel a story she had yet to tell him. Maybe a story she didn’t even know yet. “I hate you.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” he responded. His fingers ran down from her neck to dip just under the back of her shirt. “We had a good run, though, right, girlfriend?”

She rolled her neck to glare up at him. “And you want to tell me that this is normal behavior?” she grumbled, repositioning herself to lay her head in his lap. Without being asked, he grabbed her drink out of her hand while she got situated. He was just nice. She really liked that about him. There wasn’t anything that he wanted out of anyone. He was nice to people just for the sake of being nice. He smirked down at her, and she pinched her nose in response. “You know, you’d think that it didn’t take me getting you drunk after a year of silence and stupidity to get you in my pants.”

A twinkle passed his eyes that she vaguely recognized. Something just distant enough that she couldn’t put her finger on it, but familiar enough to make her stomach do flips. She liked his eyes. They always had something to say even when he didn’t. Like the ocean singing out inside of a conch shell. Blue and deep. His fingers ran along her jaw. “Don’t forget the year and a half I spent stalking you at work,” he reminded her.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot, but look at you. Getting to rail me on the fucking reg. Gotta love character development.”

“I prefer to think of it as--”

“I swear to the fucking baby Jesus if you say ‘making love’, I’m going to deck you so hard across the face you’ll be drinking your food through a straw for the next year.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you the way that you are?”

A shrug. “Some people are destined for greatness. Some have it thrust upon them.”

“It’s really sweet that you think I’m great.”

“You’re fucking gross is what you are.”

They had grown comfortable. There was a routine between them. A dynamic they both seemed to still enjoy. She liked waking up next to him and coming home to him. Sitting down at the end of the day and talking about nothing. Smiling at something stupid he said. Feeling her heart swell when he went out and nonchalantly picked up paints she had talked about wanting to try out. Taking in the look on his face when he walked in to her making the goulash he had been talking about craving all week. Seeing him light up at being called her boyfriend felt odd. Not because she wasn’t committed. She was all in. It seemed like a very trivial way to put the connection she had perceived them as having. Juvenile even. Like there was more meat to whatever they had going on between them.

“Hey.” Her hands had raised up and rested on either side of his face. A soft smile still lingered on his face as he looked back at her, eyes curious. “I’m all in, okay?” Leaning into her hand, the expression changed from curious to fond. A look she knew all too well. Often, he thought he was much sneakier than he was in reality. At least once a day she would catch him out of the corner of her eye staring at her. Just watching. Nothing uncomfortable or creepy in it. He had told her one night that he liked to look at her to keep moments in his mind. Just in case he woke up back in Hatchetfield the morning after the meteor hit. Taking little snapshots he could keep with him in his mind. It was some sappy shit that Jane would have eaten up… and would have given Emma shit over for getting such joy out of it. 

“Yeah, I know,” he admitted. “Sometimes I like to humor Paul from Hatchetfield because he would’ve shit his pants to hear you call him your boyfriend.”

“I guess he better just put a diaper or some shit like that on.” She pushed herself up on her elbow. Away from him slightly but just so she could sit up a bit. “Can I have some of that?” She jutted her chin out toward his glass.

“What? No, get your own!”

“You’re a terrible husband.”

“How would you know?”

“I have several husbands and families back in Guatemala. They all share their wine with me.”

“Good thing we’re not married then because this is  _ my _ wine and you can get your own.” He handed her glass back to her. “Plus, you have whisky to finish.”

Pursing her lips, she took the glass from him. “Whatever,” she muttered. “Worst boyfriend ever.” She glanced up to watch him chuckle into his wine glass. Teeth sunk into the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling back up at him, but the look he was giving her out of the corner of his eye said that she wasn’t hiding anything. She wondered what this scene would have been like back on the island. Sprawled out on his couch. If he had a couch. He probably did. Basically falling into his lap. Teasing each other over stupid shit. She was well aware of the fact that he thought about what things could have been like all the time. Even if she tried to keep her mind in the present, she found her mind wandering back to that stupid fucking island. The thoughts liked to resurface every now and then like a bad case of herpes. It was better to just stay in the moment. Things were good. Hell, she loved him. Shit, he loved  _ her. _

“How about partners then?” he mused, that same lazy grin lingering on his lips.

“Are we dating?”

“Are we detectives?”

“Are we dating detectives who have a complex relationship driving the entire fucking plot of some shitty noir movie?”

“Ooh, I like that one.”

A blush was finding its way over her face, but she would have been inclined to say it was just the alcohol. At least she would have leaned that way in the past. However, she knew better. The line between Kelly and Emma looking at Ben and Paul was becoming too blurry to truly define. Nights like this one made her curious as to how people look at their spouses. Whether it was just that typical idea that the sun shines out of their asshole. Or maybe there was more nuance to it than that. Because she could see him and find his general apathy to be frustrating and a little selfish when it went too far, but at the same time, she was someone who had boat loads of commitment issues and tended to misplace the anger she held toward herself for things. They each had their baggage, some of which hadn’t been unpacked in decades. Yet here they were, at the baggage claim, with each other’s luggage in the other’s hands. 

“So who’s the good cop and who’s the bad cop?” he asked, continuing with her noir theme. Something about him felt like lighting sparklers on a hot summer night. Magical and exciting. Little sparks of pure joy pouring out all around. A light in the damp dark night. A little wondrous. A little beautiful. “You know what? Stupid question. Of course I’m the bad cop.”

“You’re the nerdass cop.”

“Yeah, well… maybe,” he chuckled as he took a sip of wine. “But you like me, so I guess I can live with that title.”

“Alright, partner.” She lifted her glass up to him, her own stupid beaming grin crossing her face. “Cheers me, baby cakes.”

He exhaled a laugh through his nose. “You got it, partner,” he replied, knocking his glass gently into hers. She watched him finish the rest of his drink before she even considered taking a swig of her own. His eyes shifted down to her. “What?”

She rested her head against his knee again. “I just like you, kid,” she told him.

His free hand ran through the hair on the side of her head. “I like you, too,” he sighed happily. She allowed her eyes to slide shut as she listened to the central air kick on.

“I’m glad you do.” His fingers continued to comb through her hair, index finger stopping at one point to wrap itself around a curl. “Very glad.”

“Well, I’ve liked you for a long time.” A simple statement, but one felt like electricity in her bones. Emma ten years ago would have given her such shit over all the feelings she was allowing herself to have. Now, though, she let her eyes stay shut, enjoying the sensation of his hand raking through her hair. “I think I’ll like you forever.”

“Oh shut up, nerd.”

“Ah, there she is.”


	2. Eddie Vedder Touched a Ukulele

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma can't sleep, so they try some immersive therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hey there, friends! I hope you're all well. I kind of dumped off the internet for a little bit there, but here's a little thing. I hope you enjoy!

Emma liked touching Paul. Not necessarily with any sexual intent behind the touches. She just enjoyed being in contact with him. Mostly silly mindless touches. Fingertips on the back of his neck. Circles traced against the palm of his hand. Upper arms gripped in the midst of laughing over something stupid he said. There was something comforting in the physical connection between them. Almost as if he were something to keep her grounded. After everything that had happened, there were still days that went by feeling like a dream. Like everything that went down back in Hatchetfield was just a nightmare. One of these days, she was sure she would wake in her shitty apartment and roll into Beanies half hungover for a twelve hour shift. But as it was, she had yet to wake up, and she was constantly torn over how she was supposed to feel. Terrible and traumatized, knowing that everything and everyone she had ever known was gone. Guilty over surviving while so many others with bigger and better dreams than her perished. Lost as per usual without the guiding light that peered around Jane’s shadow, the shade of which she had grown more acquainted with than her own sister in some ways.

“Emma, this is… this is really nerve-wracking. What are you doing?”

Most days, she didn’t feel the majority of those emotions. He sat before her in one of the kitchen table’s chairs. Her over ear headphones were atop his ears. Blue saucers stared up at her anxiously, unsure was what was just about to happen. The corner of her lips tugged up into a lopsided smile as she glanced down to the cell phone in her hand. “Trust me, big guy. I think you’re actually going to like this one,” she insisted, scrolling quickly through a page on her phone. His index finger tapped nervously on the side of her thigh. Little shocks carried over her skin. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from breaking into a full grin. Her eyes flicked up to him for a moment. “Trust me, okay?”

No, she did not feel all those heavy feelings on a regular basis. However, the comfort and happiness she did feel was enough to draw an inherent remorse up from the pits of her stomach, where she had tried to bury it away. Not even about surviving the apotheosis. Just living the life she was while Jane was six feet underground. She wondered often if her sister would have even made it off the island. Usually, she would decide Jane would have made it with Tom and Tim in tow. Off of that godforsaken island with her family intact. Emma’s eyes scanned over Paul’s face like she was searching desperately for a needle in a haystack. There was definitely something karmatically askew in her life that she ended up where she was, and she couldn’t figure out what it was for the life of her. His hand rested flat against her thigh as his head fell forward into her chest. “Okay,” he sighed.

“Pfft, stop being so fucking dramatic, weirdo.”

She tapped enthusiastically at the center of her screen. Against her, she could feel him inhale sharply as if he had just taken a dive under water. Without another word about how ridiculous he was being, she dragged her fingers against the back of his neck. A gentle reminder that he was okay despite how fast his leg was bouncing up and down. Was this how her sister dealt with her brother-in-law when he returned from his second tour in Iraq? Quiet touches to anxious skin under the unassuming light of the moon. Tom had been an asshole. There was no denying that, but sometimes the thought of his likely PTSD weighed on her like an anchor in her chest. His mind wartorn as he tried to mourn and raise his son at the same time. She never got close enough to know and had stopped responding to Jane with long enough emails to ever get that sort of information.

Paul’s leg stopped bouncing, and he was breathing normally again. The music had finally hit. She grinned, forcing herself out of her thoughts. He looked up at her, brows furrowed in confusion. “Is this… Pearl Jam?” he asked, though the words were uncertain because the melodies floating through the headphones sounded nothing like nineties grunge rock. 

Shrugging, she could feel the smug look on her face almost as much as she could feel the anxiety radiating off of him. “Close. It’s some solo stuff Eddie Vedder did in 2011,” she explained. Her hand was still on the back on his neck. Cool against his warm skin. His eyes never left her, but he didn’t speak. Just stared at her while Eddie Vedder mused along with a ukulele. Like she was some sort of light in the dark he was struggling to get to. Bounding through thick forest to be by her. Reaching his hands out desperately trying to grab onto her. Her expression softened as her thumb ran gently along his neck. “I heard you trying to listen to some music the other day.”

He had been in the kitchen when she quietly walked through the front door. It was nearly silent after he took it upon himself to grease up the hinges a little. She quietly nudged her shoes off. They haphazardly fell next to a pair of his sneakers, which was neatly placed beside the door. There was muttering from the kitchen.  _ “God fucking dammit.” _ The quiet air of the house was cut by the light tinkering of a guitar playing. Then it abruptly stopped. Then it started again before almost immediately stopping when the singer came in. She softly stepped toward the kitchen and hung back in the doorway enough that he maybe wouldn’t notice her. His shoulders heaved, whether it was with tears or frustration or even both she couldn’t be sure. He leaned his weight onto his palms, which were planted against the counter. A small speaker sat beside him. One hand reached over and pressed a button on the speaker. The singer continued to sing about waiting and watching the clock. About a woman practicing a speech. She could have sworn she recognized the song, knew it even. Then he stops the music once more before slamming his fist against the counter.  _ “Stupid.” _

In the light of the moon, he looked up at her, still listening to the music. “I remembered you saying you liked Pearl Jam, and this shit came on some radio I had playing down at the shop,” she continued. Her tone was tender even with the swearing. There was something about him that made the hard exterior melt down. “You also keep complaining about how you can’t listen to anything but shitty indie and ukulele music, so I figured this might be something nice in the middle for you.”

His hand fell from her thigh, landing with a slap against his thigh. “Well, that’s mortifying,” he muttered while he dipped his head low again, careful this time not to hit her chest. 

“Oh, give me a fucking break.” She tugged his chin back up, so he was looking at her. “Listen to me, you nerd. We survived what really should have been the end of the world. You’re allowed to have some hang ups.”

“It’s been four years, Emma.”

“So what?”

“It should be easier.”

“Oh my fucking god.” She placed a hand on either side of his face, leaning down so they were nose-to-nose. “Sometimes I’ll be in a store and  _ Mr. Sandman _ will start playing and I feel like my entire chest is going to explode because all I can think about is Nora and Zoey literally poisoning the whole coffee shop.” Her eyes darted over his face. Calm but sad. Tired. A normal occurrence at three in the morning. Eyes fluttering shut, she leaned her forehead against his. “ _ You _ almost drank some of that goopy fucking coffee, Paul.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Yeah, that’s true, but the point is there was a lot of shit that went down and there’s going to be a lot of fucking baggage that comes with that.”

“You just listen to whatever and have to shut everything down when I’m around.”

“I don’t know. The Andrews Sisters and any female rock power ballad is out of the question.”

“Come on, Emma.”

“Come on,  _ Paul. _ You’ve been listening to Eddie Vedder for the past five minutes. That’s some fucking progress, right?” Jane would have done this better. She was sure that Jane knew what to do in a situation like this. How to handle the feelings. How to make things better. She always did. Jane was good. The good one. Emma didn’t always know what to say or do. It was easy when she was the one in the shadows. The one no one ever asked about because she wasn’t going anywhere. Now, she was the one who had to step up and do something. To help. Jane wouldn’t have brought her own guilt back into it. Not dialing back to things that upset her every day. That lingered in the back of her mind. Things like a stupid cup of fucking coffee she served to some guy she had known for less than a day who was clearly losing his mind. Coffee filled with some blue shit that would turn the bodies of all the coffee shop patrons into singing alien zombies. It always spiraled into her own issues and then turned into her scrambling to try and bring it back to him.

Lips found hers softly in the dark. It was something she still found herself surprised by that. There were nights she felt like she was in a different world. Back in Hatchetfield mostly. Going about the same old things in slightly different ways. Usually acts that were pretty mundane. Going off to class. Suffering through shifts at Beanies. Eating instant ramen alone in her shitty apartment. On occasion, though, the black coffee guy would come in and try to horrendously flirt with her. Most times that ended in her stifling laughter at his beet red face. Once in a while, his mustached friend would come in with him and get so frustrated he would practically beg her to give black coffee her number. But that wasn’t where she was. That person didn’t even technically exist anymore. She was standing in the kitchen with the black coffee guy. He never did get her number, but there they were. Shells of who they used to be, struggling through being alone in the world. Everyone that brought any sort of normalcy to their former lives was dead. It wasn’t Emma kissing her… Paul in P.E.I.P.’s kitchen. This was Kelly kissing her husband in their kitchen technically.

“Thank you, Em.” His voice was nothing but a breath against her lips when he pulled away from her slightly. A hand rested on her hip. “This was… really nice. You didn’t have to--”

She pulled back from him to be able to look down at him. Her index finger traced the side of his face. He looked about the same as he did back when he was just another coffee order. A little older. A little more exhausted. Like grief had been hanging around his neck like a ball and chain. Even when he was just another customer, though, he was just a little different. Like there was some familiar about someone she had never met. Knowing him felt like coming home, as cliche as that was. Things made sense around him. They were easy even when everything was complicated. Her hand rested on his cheek as he pulled the headphones off and laid them on the table. His other palm found her other hip, firmly planting her in this reality.

“Yeah, well, I like you alright,” she mumbled with her thumb grazing against his lower lip. He smiled up at her--a soft close-lipped smile--while leaning into her touch. His eyes slid shut like a contented cat. Comfortable in her touch. “It’s you and me against the world, kid.”


	3. Sandwich and Backstory Deliveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul drops off lunch. Emma hires a new girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, friends. Let's get some familiar faces in here.

The Coffee Potter was given its name before Emma had any say in the matter. In fact, the cafe half of the shop was added in without her knowledge, which she wasn't exactly thrilled about, but she did have to admit she made a damn fine coffee and coming up with the different weekly pastry menus was just a little fun. Finding a way to incorporate weed into different treats was creatively fulfilling, oddly enough. However, she would have appreciated having a say in what exactly the store, which was supposed to be hers for all intents and purposes, sold. Working in another shitty coffee shop was not really her ideal version of starting a new life.

To be fair, though, the added aspect of a cafe did manage to drum up a significant amount of business. A little pot and a few muffins on the regular could really add up after enough time.

Various employees came to and from throughout the few years she had been running the place. A lot of baristas and “budtenders” as one of them cleverly began calling themselves. Usually they were juniors and seniors from the University of Colorado at Boulder. Coming in and out during school years and summers. Staying long enough for Emma to grow fond of them before they disappeared forever. It wasn’t difficult to find personnel. The tough part was keeping them around. She had become painfully self aware of the fact that she spent two too many years at Beanies treated like a piece of garbage. 

She was pretty pleased with her most recent hire. Young girl. In her early twenties, according to her application. The girl had a clean record and enough previous work experience that Emma knew she wouldn’t be an issue to train. The interview had trailed off toward the end. She learned the girl was helping provide for her little sister. Their mother had passed away a few years back. Then the girl, her longtime boyfriend, and little sister had made the big move out to Colorado from out eat. Where out east, the girl hadn’t specified, but regardless, this young woman was sharp and funny and willing to work hard. She reminded Emma a little of herself had she been thrusted into more responsibility at a young age.

Surprisingly enough, the middle of the day was not their prime business hour. Most people weren’t coming for a midday coffee and a bud. Occasionally, people would walk through and grab a coffee and a croissant. Some college kids would usually filter in and dabble in a little Mary Jane while they studied for exams or worked on term papers. But for the most part, it was quiet. The perfect time to let the new girl man the front on her own. She had already been there for a solid month and seemingly had no trouble handling herself. Not that Emma wouldn’t be there if need be, she just preferred to be out on the little terrace that led out of the shop. Where those who were interested in smoking were urged to go. Despite everything, Emma had a really decent way with people. They almost even seemed to  _ like _ her. Sometimes, she would look up at the sky with a big middle finger held up to her deceased mother, who had always thought she was a nightmare.

In the midst of a conversation she was having with a literature student about how she thought  _ the Scarlet Letter _ was an absolute dumpster fire, she heard a commotion coming from in the shop. “Sir, you have to actually buy something to go back there,” the new girl deadpanned to whatever sap was likely just looking to mooch off of their free wifi. “If you buy something, you can sit and stay as long as you want.

“No, you don’t… listen, I’m just here to see--”

“Sir, I don’t think _ you _ understand. It’s the policy here. I can’t just break policy for you.”

“I’m just here to see--”

She knew that bumbling voice. As she sauntered back inside, she was proven right. Even with her eyes adjusting from being out in the bright sun, she could still see Paul’s face burning red while he tried to discuss with the new girl why he needed to get into the back. “Sadie, don’t worry about him. He’s fine,” she assured the girl as she smirked over at him. “What’re you doing here, nerd?”

There was a small brown bag in his hands, which he lifted up slightly to show her. “I had a meeting a couple blocks from here and grabbed Andy’s for lunch. I figured I’d drop you off something for lunch,” he explained, dropping the bag onto the counter and then shoving his fists into his pockets.

“Oh damn, I forgot to bring something with me today!” she stated, crossing the space to stand next to him and peek into the bag. “Tough day having to actually meet with people in person, big guy?” He scoffed. “What do we have in here?”

He peered over her shoulder as if he didn’t already know what he got her. “Um, they were all out of prosciutto, so I couldn’t get that sandwich with the mozzarella that you like. But  _ I think _ I remembered you saying you liked the tarragon walnut chicken salad.”

“No shit, they had it today?”

“Yes shit, they did.”

A smile had finally broken out on his still red face. It didn’t help that his t-shirt was also red, which accentuated the color that had crawled up his neck and onto his cheeks. She grinned back at him. “You’re the best sandwich delivery boy a girl could ever ask for,” she cooed. The only response she got was a heavy eye roll, though the grin still remained on his lips. “This is Sadie.” She nodded to the girl behind the counter, who nodded as a gesture of greeting at him. “She’s the new girl I’ve been telling you about. The fucking awesome one.”

He raised his hand. “Hi,” was all he could muster. No greeting otherwise. No introduction himself.

“Do I just get to address you as the sandwich delivery boy or--”

His eyebrows shot up and blush came back full force as it had just begun to dissipate. Emma’s hand landed on his chest before he could make a fool out of himself further. “I mean, you can call him that if you want I guess, but this is Ben.” It was still odd to introduce themselves with their new identities. They were hardly new anymore, but it still felt foreign on her tongue to use the names they had been given post-apotheosis. “My…” She looked back at Paul, who was staring right back at her. Something hung in the air between them more than the quiet acoustic music that played over the speakers. Her eyes fell back onto Sadie with a more bashful grin on her face. “Husband.”

The girl’s eyebrows shot up. Solid with a perfect arch to them despite the fact that she claimed to have never shaped them in her life. Emma spent a solid ten minutes each morning drawing hers in to look even close to that. “You’re married?” she wondered, arms crossing over her chest.

“Yeah,” Emma concurred as she looked over her shoulder one more time. “Ten years this August actually.”

“Fuck, you’re like  _ really _ married then.”

Emma shrugged. “I guess.” Leaning her back against the counter, her attention turned back to him. “So is this just a drop and run sandwich delivery, or are you finally looking to dabble in the reefer?” she teased.

“Um, no. No thanks,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck. His eyes fell to the floor. “I was just, um, in the neighborhood and kind of wanted to see you.”

There was a hint of Hatchetfield in this encounter with him. For a moment, she felt like she was behind the counter staring up at some goob in a suit making poorly timed not very funny jokes. Looking as red as a little tomato. Glancing back uncomfortably at the line that was growing behind him. But this wasn’t Hatchetfield. This was Ben dropping lunch off because he wanted to see Kelly. A warm feeling settled in her chest. “Ugh, you dork,” she groaned, shoving his shoulder. “Get out of here.”

Once again, he rolled his eyes, but instead of leaving his rebuttal at that, he leaned down to give her a small peck on the lips. A kiss that left a doofy grin in its wake. “I’ll see you at home, Kel,” he said, voice growing soft along with the gaze he gave her. That same awe he looked at her with before he even knew what her name was. The same light that hit his eyes when she walked into the house after work. The same love he held when he had woken up next to her after that very first night. “It was nice meeting you, Sadie.”

His hand lingered on her arm before he finally broke away and walked toward the door. “Bye, sandwich delivery boy!” Sadie called after him. Emma looked over at her from the spot she still occupied on the other side of the counter. A smirk was perched on the young woman’s lips. “Next time if you’re feeling generous, I like turkey and swiss!”

Emma caught Paul’s eyeline, a laugh bubbling up in her throat. She squeezed her mouth shut to keep from letting it out. “God,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses. “I can’t believe there’s two of you.”

The door jingled shut behind him, and she braced herself to push off of the counter and back onto the terrace. “So, married, huh? Didn’t take you for that.” The comment threw her off balance a little bit. Mostly because she had a point. This was never something Emma had pictured for herself. In all fairness, though, she didn’t really have too much of a plan. Study botany? Start a pot farm? It was all just her inner angsty teenager not wanting to quite commit to one path or place. To run away once again. 

But things had the tendency to change. People, to grow. “Yeah, he’s a gigantic nerd, but I guess he’s my nerd,” she replied as she grabbed her sandwich bag. A small ‘E’ was written in the corner with a heart next to it. Barely noticeable and very mushy, but it cracked a smile out of her no less.

“You guys meet out here?”

She looked up at Sadie, who was still standing there with arms crossed. There was a small teasing smirk on her lips. One that felt oddly family to her. “Uh, no,” Emma stumbled over her words, feeling a little like Paul in that moment. “No, we met back home. Back out east.” She paused a beat to see if there was going to be any give in the conversation. If anything, Sadie looked more intrigued at her story. There had never been a person who asked how they met. No one had ever needed a backstory for Kelly and Ben. They just existed without any particular beginning to their relationship. She considered what could have been. What extraordinary adventures Kelly and Ben could have been on. What sort of goofy and chaotic way they could have met. Nothing felt quite right. Shaking her head, she ran her thumb over the small “E” written in pen. “He came into the shitty coffee shop I worked in while I was in college. Every single fucking day for a year until  _ I _ asked him what  _ his  _ name was, and the rest I guess is fucking history.”

“So you worked in a shitty coffee shop and then opened one up yourself?”

“Hey, watch it. You work in this shitty coffee shop.” She thrust her index finger out at Sadie, who held her hands up in surrender. “Also don’t get the turkey and swiss. Always go for the turkey, avocado, brie, and honey mustard. It’s a life changing combination.”

With an arched brow, Sadie pushed herself off the wall she had been leaning against as another customer entered. “Are you saying that you’re going to have your husband buy me lunch?” The term made Emma’s heart hammer in her chest. Marriage was never her bag. It wasn’t going to be something that she even dabbled in, let alone commit to fully for any extended period, yet the timing felt correct. It was almost as if it would be normal for them to be taking steps in that direction if things were the way they used to be.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, kid,” she shot back, hoping to god that she was sounding less like a nervous school girl than she felt on the inside. She ducked behind the counter and made her way to a doorway marked:  _ EMPLOYEES ONLY _ . “But right now, I’m going to eat this sandwich made in the name of capitalism but delivered with love. If you need anything, just holler.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll use the super secret password, too.” Sadie glanced at the set of young boys who had entered and were still lingering by the locally handmade mugs on display by the door. She turned back to Emma. “‘When the clock strikes three, kick the chicken in the throat.’”

Emma’s eyes squeezed shut and teeth dug into her lower lip as she stifled yet another laugh. There was no secret password. Just a good rapport. “Oh man, you’re a fucking keeper,” she chuckled, pushing the door to the back room open and making her way toward the break room. Her gaze found the small ‘E’ once again while her mind wandered back to Hatchetfield. Paul the husband jotting little silly love notes on post-it notes that somehow slipped into her lunches. Paul the husband writing sweet things on the mirror in the bathroom, so when it fogged up, she would be greeted with love. Paul the husband. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and tapped into her messaging app. One of very few chats that were open was labeled 'P' with a small orange heart emoji.

_ hey thanks for lunch _

Not even a moment later, a reply popped up.

_ P: It was no problem at all. :) _

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes regardless of the full blow smile on her face. Another message came in.

_ P: I can see why you like the new girl. She seems a lot like you. _

He set her up for a slam dunk.

_ should i be worried? last i heard you had a thing for snarky varsutas _

_ *baristas _

_ P: You should just use autocorrect. _

_ fuck autocorevt _

_ P: I’m just saying it might help. _

_ fuck you youre not my real dad _

_ P: I’m not your dad? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? _

_ god you made it weird. i’m gonna go enjoy my lunch. leftover salmon good for dinner still? _

_ P: Yep. Enjoy your lunch. We’ll discuss our very strange father/daughter relationship later over some wine. _

_ i hate you _

She chewed on her chicken salad sandwich, savoring the magic they had to use at the sandwich shop, while she looked at her phone. Sighing heavily, she typed another text.

_ i love you. drive safe and let me know when u get home _

There wasn’t even time for her to put her phone down on the table before his response came in.

_ P: Love you too. Will do. :) _

There was still a broad grin on her face. “Fucking nerd,” she muttered to herself as she took another bite out of her sandwich. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emma doesn't believe in autocorrect. She will die with typos with dignity like a true warrior.
> 
> Also man, I can't wait to have some more of our other friends from Hatchetfield.


	4. Four's a Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Paul have a disagreement that ends in the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya girl is back y'all. Enjoy!

“Emma, what the hell is that?”

Emma stood in the doorway between the foyer and the kitchen. Her brows were raised as she looked directly at Paul, who was still stationed at the kitchen table with his laptop open in front of him. One of the mugs he got her for Christmas was beside him, likely half-filled with lukewarm black coffee. He stared back at her, hands still hovering over his keyboard. “What is…  _ what?” _ she replied as if she didn’t know exactly what he was talking about. She clenched the material in her hand. A broad, overexaggerated grin grew across her lips. His eyes didn’t leave her. They stood in their standoff for what felt like a matter of minutes, clearly egging the other to make the next move. When he cocked a brow at her, she sucked her cheeks in and looked down next to her. “Oh,  _ this? _ Is that what you were talking about?”

“Yes, Emma, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Well, if you must know, this is Bosco,” she explained, running a hand over the sleek and slender black head beside her. Chocolate brown eyes watched Paul. Two sets of them. The aforementioned Bosco was long-limbed and jet black with a set of almost red brown eyes. He was lean. Maybe even a little too skinny if someone looked at him without knowing he was a greyhound. Though she was pretty sure Paul was simply sizing up the panting little guy--eighty pounds was slightly bigger than a little guy. She leaned down, so her head was behind Bosco’s and raised the pitch of her voice. “Don’t be mad, Dad. I was so sad Mom couldn’t help but bring me home.  _ And _ I grew up in a house with cats and love hiking and snuggles.”

When she peeked out from behind the dog’s head, she could have sworn she saw him trying to hold back the smile, but he immediately sucked it back in once she was looking at him. His serious look wasn’t fooling her, though. It was strange how four years really made it easy to know a person. To be fair, things were easy with him. Even when she didn’t know things about him, she still felt like she knew. She just knew him. He made sense when nothing else did. When it seemed that she couldn’t understand anyone around her, he was like a book in her native tongue. Familiar and welcoming. So yeah, there was no way he was going to be able to stay angry with her, which was her whole angle.

“Em,” he sighed as he scrubbed his hands over his face beneath his glasses. “I thought this was something we were going to talk about more.”

“It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. I mean, look at his fucking face.” She bent down to be cheek to cheek with the dog, who, in turn, moved his head to leave a single lick on her face. In a moment of genuine surprise, she turned to him with a beaming smile before she kissed his cheek back. Her eyes returned to Paul, whose hand was over his mouth. “Babe, what the fuck? Come on. This is the cutest shit I’ve ever seen.”

“Well,  _ babe, _ we have a cat and--” As if on cue, Janis sauntered between Emma and Bosco, rubbing her face against Emma’s leg as she watched the much larger dog. Bosco lowered his long face to her, giving her a gentle sniff. His tail flicked behind him as he pushed his nose closer to Janis, whose paw landed on his face in response. No claws. No hostility. Just a gentle reminder of who was in charge in the house. And it was most certainly not him, which he understood immediately. He brought himself back up to pant in Emma’s face again, almost as if to ask her what was next. “That’s not what I expected.”

Emma bit back the ‘told you so’ with a smirk. “Are you going to come and say hello or not?” she wondered, scratching the backs of Bosco’s ears. A gentle  _ click _ released him from his leash, although he didn’t move. He stayed right beside her, eyes now trained on Paul. They stared each other down across the room. Long-limbed and nervous. Neither one was ready to move toward the other. “Oh come on, you big nerd. Get…” Bosco took a tentative step into the kitchen. He looked back at her for permission to continue. “Go ahead, buddy. It’s okay. Go.”

He stepped forward like an anxious giraffe. Each step was careful to not break the floor below him. New and uncharted territory laid before him. She fished her phone out of her pocket to try to discreetly take a video to commemorate the moment. His nails quietly clicked along the tile. Eyes darted between the floor below him and the man in front of him. Paul also didn’t break his gaze away. Leg bouncing up and down. Pen clicking idly in his far hand. Once he was up close to Paul, Bosco’s size really showed. Even next to six foot one Paul, the dog looked big. He was tall and long and just a little shy. Paul held his hand out to the dog, who quietly sniffed at his skin. Bosco’s tongue jutted out and touched Paul’s fingers. Mid-lick, the dog looked up at him as if to ask if what he was doing was alright to do.

The expression on Paul’s face softened slightly when Bosco finished his quick lick. “Okay, he’s pretty cute,” he agreed as he slowly moved his hand to run over Bosco’s head. “Still pretty pissed that you just went and got a dog, but he didn’t have anything to do with that. He’s a fucking dog.” Without looking away from the dog, he continued, “You can’t just spontaneously bring home dogs, Emma.”

“How long do you think you’re going to be mad?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, scratching at Bosco’s neck. “Give me a half hour at least, okay?”

“Deal.”

\--------

Steam filled their bathroom as she slid through the door. Bosco had crawled into the crate she set up in the corner of their bedroom as per the suggestion of the rescue. He curled up into an impossibly snug ball and yawned at her as she shut him in. Peeling her shirt off, she listened for any yelps, but nothing came. Her clothes fell to the floor in a messy pile next to Paul’s jeans, boxers, and t-shirt. In the mirror, she could see Paul’s faint outline on the other side of the shower curtain. It had been longer than a half hour. The conversation between them was minimal. The laughter was less. No matter how she tried to weasel in he kept asking for just a little more time.

She quietly slipped beyond the shower curtain, finding him facing away from her. His back was speckled with freckles after a few hikes they took during the early parts of the summer, where his shirt ended up off at one point or another. She made sure to give him shit over the fact that it was very unlike him to just take his shirt off willy nilly. He simply rolled his eyes. Hands ran over his back softly. A gentle tender touch. She didn’t like not having the normal light conversation they had at night. Laughing at stupid jokes. Sometimes delving into a piece or two of one of their histories. 

He glanced over his shoulder at her, strands of wet hair plastered against his forehead. A brow arched. “Hey,” he muttered while turning back to face the stream of the water. “Did you think that you getting naked was going to make me not mad at you?”

“I didn’t think it’d hurt.”

A heavy sigh left him, like he was deflating, and he turned to face her fully. His skin was pink from the hot water pelting against him. Up close, he looked tired. He hadn’t been sleeping the past few days. She joined him a night or two downstairs in the moonlight, thinking he might have not wanted to be alone. They sat together on the couch for hours one night. Cross-legged across from him. He leaned his head against her chest. Breaths were shallow. No words. Just fingers gently raking through his hair. Despite being with him the one night, she knew he had been down there several others. 

“Do you know why I’m angry?” he asked, pushing the drips of water off of his face. 

Her eyes narrowed up at him. “Don’t patronize me, Paul.”

“No, I’m being serious, Emma. Do you even know why I’m mad?”

“Because I brought a fucking dog home without asking you first. Sorry, I forgot to get your permission.”

“No, Em, it’s not because you need permission to do things. You can do whatever. I don’t own you. I’m not in charge of you, and I never fucking will be. You’ve got your own mind and your own shit. Hell, you’re ten times as independent as I am. It’s because you just went and made this choice without thinking that it’s not just you it's affecting. I’m sure he’s going to be a great dog, and it’s not like we’re going to kick him to the curb. But this isn’t just you here. This isn’t really about the dog or the fucking cat or anything. You just have to… consider that I’d like to be in on making the big decisions, too.”

Her lips pressed together, and for a moment, she wanted to snap at him. Tell him that she could do what she wanted. That it was wrong of him to expect her to get permission from him to do things. That he was being a little baby over a fucking dog. But she didn’t. She looked up at him, momentary anger melting. There used to just be her. What everyone else thought didn’t really matter. Even her own sister’s opinions of her didn’t matter for so many years. She did what she wanted when she wanted and that was that. Consequences didn’t matter until the morning. There was a mentality of crossing that bridge when she came to it. Everything was different now, though. She wasn’t just thinking about herself anymore. She had a life to think about. It was a responsibility she had never intended to have. No career or house or partner. Those weren’t in the cards for her for so many years, yet she was standing in the shower, feeling the slightest bit guilty about having made a bigger decision for both of them on a whim.

“Well, I’m sorry,” she responded without taking her eyes off his face. “I didn’t think about that. I just fucking went over there thinking I was going to look at dogs, and then I just left with one. But it should have been something we did together. Dogs are kind of a big thing.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he snorted, a smile touching his lips.

The corners of her mouth lifted into a smirk, feeling the air lighten just by discussing the issue at hand. “You did want to start going for runs,” she offered. “Now, you’ve got a buddy, who’s way fucking better at running than you are.” He threw his head back with a groan. Even so, she could see the grin returning to his features. Sometimes she wondered if he felt the same way when he made her smile. Like the sun was bursting over the horizon into a kaleidoscope of wonder and joy. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she was about to pull him down to kiss her when he yanked her fully under the water by her wrists. “Paul!”

“That’s what you get for giving me shit and adopting a dog without me!”

Before he could get another word in, she pulled him down to meet her lips. Warm and full. Taking in the smell of his shampoo. Cloves. Spicy with a bite of oranges. Her fingers threaded through his hair. Hands found her waist and pulled her flush against him. Skin was wet, slick in the steam of hot water. “Did it help that I was naked?” she mumbled into his mouth.

He pressed her against the cool tile on the wall. Whether it was the wall or his fingers pressed against her skin that sent the shivers down her spine, she wasn’t sure. Her arms wrapped around his neck either way. “It didn’t hurt,” he answered as he hiked her up around his hips. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair, tugging lightly when his tongue slid into her mouth. “Is this makeup sex?”

“Is that what you think fighting with me is?” Her one hand ran lazily down his spine. Fingernails trailed along his skin. Daring him to commit to the next move. “I mean, maybe if everyone solved their problems naked fighting would be like that.”

His lips were scalding against her skin when he dipped his face down to her neck. Slow teasing kisses. Teeth just barely dragging. “I also feel a little weird… doing it in front of the dog,” he admitted, face still buried in her neck. Her palm came in contact with his back as a hard slap. He jolted up to look at her. “What?”

“‘Doing it?’ Are we fifteen?”

“Would you rather I call it ‘making love’?”

“I’m going to vomit all over your face.”

“Maybe I’m into that. You don’t know.”

She brought their faces close together again until their noses were touching. “Paul,” she breathed, looking directly into his eyes. “I want you to fucking rail me in this goddamn shower, so the dog can’t see us.”

“It’s weird, right?”

“Yes, Paul, it’s weird. I really don’t know how it’s going to work, but giddy up, buttercup. I’ve got an appointment with your dick right now.” She ground her hips against his in an effort to hurry him along, grabbing the hand that wasn’t propping her up and placing it on her breast. “We’ve got work to do here, boyo.”

He tilted his head to the side with a smile still lingering on his lips. His hand gently found itself grasping at the boob it was so nicely placed on. Thumb brushed ever so lightly against her nipple for one pass. Then another. Her breath caught in her throat. “Then let’s get to it, baby,” he rasped, lips crashing against her own once more. An uncharacteristic moment of some husky sexiness. Not the Paul that existed outside of any sexual encounter. Especially with the gravelly ‘baby’ leaving his mouth. The sort of thing that sent a shock from her throat into the pit of her stomach.

“I think this is how we should solve all problems going forward.”

“I can work with that.”


	5. Memories of the Weed Guy At the Methodist Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma go for a hike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy some more nerds in Colorado!!!

Emma glanced back at Paul, who was red-faced and desperately trying to not show that he was out of breath. “You doing okay back there, big guy?” she called back to him, receiving a less than convincing thumbs up. It was his idea to go for a hike. All the tales of Guatemala and backpacking had gotten to him and he wanted to experience something akin to it for himself, she supposed. In actuality, it was likely him wanting to make her happy. Doing something with her he knew she enjoyed. Even if he was dying just a little bit. She stood about ten strides ahead of him at a slightly higher elevation with one hand on her hip and the other holding Bosco’s leash. The dog had taken a seat beside her, panting happily while watching Paul struggle behind them.

“No, I’m… fine,” he insisted, waving her off. “Keep going. I’m good.”

A smile touched her lips. She watched him struggle to reach her level. It was strange. The longer she knew him, the more difficult it became to keep her thoughts from drifting back to Hatchetfield. Images that never got the chance to exist haunted her dreams. Bringing him to meet Tim and Tom. She was pretty sure Tim would have liked him. He was sweet and patient and really easy to poke fun of. Tim very much took after the Perkins clan when it came to bite and snark. Taking him to all the secret spots she treasured on the island. The little alcove off of the south beach. The tree deep in the Altowin Woods, where someone carved a seat into the enormous trunk. The crazy looking table, whose top looked like a window pane and opened to reveal a small storage space, that had been sitting in the old antique store for nearly a decade. He probably would have gotten it for her as a gift for something. When he finally asked her to move in with him.

“Stop making fun of me,” he groaned as he sidled up next to her.

She let out a chuckle. “I didn’t say anything,” she insisted.

“You didn’t need to,” he scoffed, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Em, it’s like ninety degrees outside. Do you know how much longer we have to go?”

Her hand reached out and patted his stomach. “You know for someone who’s been at the gym almost every day for the past year you’re really out of shape,” she teased. “And it’s not ninety degrees out. It’s eighty tops, so cut the shit.”

“Emma, it’s so fucking hot out and--” The dog snuck past her legs and nudged his hand with his snout. “Hey, buddy,” he greeted offhandedly before returning his attention to her. “It’s so hot out and the altitude--”

“Jesus Christ, come on, you enormous baby.” She tugged at the middle of his t-shirt. “It’s not that much longer. Maybe like six hundred feet. C’mon, you can do it, boy!”

He looked down at the dog. “Do you hear her patronizing me?” he grumbled. Bosco simply looked up at him with brown eyes alight with joy. “You aren’t going to defend my honor, are you? Janis would.”

“Janis would say you’re acting like a little bitch.”

“Hey!”

“Hey, nothing. I would know. I  _ am _ a little bitch.” With that, she and Bosco returned to their mission of hitting the clearing at the top of the hill they were climbing. 

From behind them, she heard him groan, “You can’t keep using that as a reason for it to be okay to call people little bitches. They are  _ very  _ different contexts, and you know that.”

Rather than humoring the pointless bickering any further like she so desperately wanted to, she and the dog continued up over rocks, roots, and dirt. She wondered what it would have been like to bring Paul out to Guatemala. To bring him on even more difficult hikes with even greater payoffs as far as views went. To wake up with him to see the sunrise and eat beautiful fresh fruit for breakfast. To jump into that impossibly blue lake and hold him close in the cool water. But that was something that would never happen. This is where they were now and would be for a very long time. That was okay, though. She was happy to be there. Content to be in a stable life. Granted it was P.E.I.P. and some singing aliens that gave her that, but he was also a big part of that. He was stable, sturdy even. There was something grounded about him. Less like a cinderblock and more like a paperweight, keeping important things together down on the earth.

When she glanced back at him, finding him red-faced and flustered, she was curious about how things would have gone after they parted ways the day they finally learned each other’s names. Would he have come back in to talk to her further? Would he have gotten scared away and never come back? Would he have done anything at all? It very well could have all just stayed the same. It probably wouldn’t have, though. She would have prodded him. That was what she did after she knew him, so there was no chance he would have gotten away with it, dragging his feet like a dummy. “Come on, nerd. You’re going to fucking make it.” She liked to think it would have been something that made her love that stupid godforsaken town. Convinced her to stay in the place that she always hated most. That he would have been a puzzle piece she didn’t know she was missing. 

Jane’s checklists always seemed stupid to her, but there she was. Job, house, husband, dog… completing a checklist she never thought about having herself. For all intents and purposes, Kelly was hiking with her husband and their dog. A normal Saturday morning off. Having an adventure, albeit a small one. Somewhere in her mind, there was some soft happy indie song filled with gentle voices and acoustic guitars playing as the soundtrack to their lives. A little unreal, but still so filled with an underlying joy. Like hearing a favorite song for the first time in ages. God, Jane would have eaten this shit up.

At the clearing, she turned around to wait for him, but found that he was only a few strides behind her and was beside her just a few seconds after she had stopped, huffing and puffing. “Look at that,” she mused while patting the side of her face. “You made it in one piece.”

“Barely,” he muttered. The frustration was dissipating from his face. She could see the grin he was trying to hide beneath his pink cheeks. His eyes shifted from her to beyond the clearing in front of them. “Wow, okay. I get it now.”

Past the clearing, the grass and dirt continued a ways before shifting to stone covered partly in moss. The edge of a cliff to be specific. There were trees and mountain tops as far as the eye could see. Layers of them even. Just when he thought he had seen the last of the mountains, there was one more seeming to come into the picture. Mist and clouds and rays of sunlight just barely passing through the clouds that cut through the otherwise blue sky. She looked from the display before them up to him. “How’s the view?” she wondered, nudging his side.

He opened his mouth to respond, but ended up closing it again. Speechless was one of the things she had hoped to happen. She grinned up at him until he brought his gaze back down to her with his own lopsided smile on his face. “It’s amazing,” he conceded, shaking his head. His eyes shifted behind her. “I think he needs water.” Bosco was sitting politely, panting wildly, looking up at the two of them. If she didn’t know any better, she would have said the dog was smiling happily at them.

They set themselves down on a patch of grass just before the edge of the cliff, laying out a small retractable bowl for the dog that she poured water from her own bottle into. Bosco licked at her cheek between his pants as she knelt beside him. She turned to him, tilting her chin up so he wouldn’t lick directly into her mouth. “Yes, baby, you did a good job,” she cooed while giving his neck a good scratch. “Was that so good? Yeah? Best walk ever, huh?” When she glanced back up, she found Paul watching them, his own panting having subsided. A small smile perched itself on his lips. She tilted her head to the side. “What’re you looking at, nerd?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Um, nothing.”

“You mean to tell me we’re out here with all this fucking nature, and you, you absolute fucking ding dong, decide to stare at me?” There were times where it felt like they were back in Hatchetfield. On occasion, he would act so nervous and weird no one would think they’d not only lived together for four years, but they had seen each other fully nude and bared their souls to each other on the regular. Standing there with his face all pink and eyes landing anywhere except on her. She could almost picture him shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks or toying with the hem of his suit jacket. “Oh come on,  _ honey. _ Let’s dig into these sandwiches.”

In the same patch of grass, they found themselves sitting. He was cross-legged while she let her legs stretch out in front of her. From her backpack, two sandwiches wrapped in a layer of parchment paper and tin foil appeared. One labeled ‘E’: havarti, honey ham, and spicy dijon on rye. The other labeled ‘P’: muenster, turkey, and a light spread of hummus on sourdough. They munched on their respective sandwiches in silence. The sound of the gentle breeze carrying through the trees enveloping them. It was one of the many things she liked about Colorado. There were so many opportunities nearby to enjoy the beauty and silence of nature. Plenty of options to escape into a view that could take someone’s breath away. Though the more she thought about it, the more she realized that there was a lot less to escape as the days went on. 

“Do you think we would’ve bought a house together?” she asked through a mouthful of food. He furrowed his brows without giving her a verbal response. Just continuing to chew. She swallowed. “Y’know, do you think we would’ve gotten a house together… back when things were kind of normal?”

“Oh, um, maybe,” he replied, clearly taken aback. His thumb folded in the corner of the tin foil his sandwich was once wrapped in. “I owned a house already.”

“No shit?”

“Yes shit.” He smiled as he picked at the crust of his bread. It was something they still did back and forth often enough. She was sure to remind him how much it had amused her the night of the Hatchetfield disaster, and he never forgot it. “Yeah, I owned a house. Nothing crazy. Two bedrooms. One and a half baths--”

“One and  _ a half _ bathrooms?”

“You know, when you have a bathroom without a shower.”

“ _ That’s _ what that means? What a stupid way to put it.” Another bite of sandwich found its way into her mouth before she waved him on. “Sorry, continue.”

“There’s not that much to say about it.” He pulled a piece of excess turkey from the edge of his sandwich and offered it to Bosco, who very gently licked it out of his fingers. “It was small. Right around the corner from that Methodist church.”

“Trinity Methodist Church?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“That’s where I used to buy my weed. In the church parking lot.”

“Oh my god.”

“I was right around the corner from you, man.” She shoved his shoulder. “That would’ve been fucking nice if I could have just crashed at your place rather than huffing it all the way back to my fucking place.”

“You could always stay at my place now after buying weed.”

“Yeah, I’m my own weed guy, too, which is the kind of character development I always hoped for.”

His eyes caught hers as she laughed at her own joke. They felt familiar. Like she had seen them before she even knew him. It was the real reason she first remembered him. The black coffee guy with the crazy eyes. At least that was how Zoey first referred to him. Emma was more of the mindset that they were the clearest crystal blue she had ever seen. Like the various stones her grandmother brought for Jane and her when they were young, claiming they would help them remain calm and find tranquility. Cool and blue and smooth. Maybe she hadn’t been far off.

“To answer your question, though, maybe, but I would have really liked it if you moved into that little house with me,” he continued, popping his final bit of sandwich into his mouth. “I would’ve loved if everything were to go like they’ve gone here.”

“Minus the trauma.”

“Yes, minus the trauma.”

The tug at her heartstrings manifested as a lopsided bashful grin on her lips. She rocked forward with a chuckle, moving her sandwich out of the reach of Bosco’s wandering nose. “And what about now?” she wondered while she broke off a corner of her sandwich to give to the dog. “Three years in. What are those assholes Paul and Emma up to in Hatchetfield now?”

After crumpling his foil and parchment paper into a ball, which was tucked back into her backpack, he leaned back on his palms, looking up at the sky. “I don’t know,” he told her. “I think it’d be hard to say how things would go. There were other problems and… shit we would have had to deal with back on the island that we don’t have to deal with here and vice versa. It’s tough to say what we’d be doing exactly.”

“And what about  _ now _ ?” she pressed. “Here and now. Where are we--”

“On top of a mountain.”

“Jesus, Paul.”

“With our dog.”

“You’re a little shit.” 

“Em, we’re here and we’re good,” he insisted, reaching out to pat Bosco’s head. “I don’t know. I like being with you… I  _ love _ being with you. There’s literally no one I would rather be with ever.”

For a moment, she almost asked if he meant it. If there was really no one else he would rather be with. Even Bill or Alice. Or anyone else that was left back on the island. But she refrained and pulled her legs up to her chest. She rested her head on her knees, looking over at him. “I really like being witness protection married to you,” she admitted. It was the truth. Being tied down to someone didn’t really feel like being tied down at all. Having someone she was attached to wasn’t a prison sentence. It was a constant. Something static in an ever changing world. 

“You’re the best witness protection wife I’ve ever had,” he said, slapping his hand over his heart dramatically.

She arched a brow. “Just how many witness protection wives have you had?” she questioned with narrowed eyes, but she couldn’t deny the grin beaming out at him. “Exactly how many secret families do you have, Paul? If that’s even your real name.”

“No, man, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m Ben.”

Still resting her head on her knees, she watched him. Still pink from the heat. Smiling down at her. Eyes shining. Suddenly the view wasn’t nearly as much about the beautiful mountain ranges and forests that surrounded them. No, it was all about some big stupid nerd who had escaped what could have been the end of the world hand in hand with her. This lovable weirdo who constantly felt so guilty over not having been able to save his friends from the alien brood. This strange, strange man who loved her for whatever reason.

“Hey,” she piped up, voice growing soft. “I fucking love you.”

He leaned over, hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of her bun and into her face out of her eyes. “Hey,” he repeated. His voice was gentle. Calm. Something of a security blanket. Like something intimate even when they were speaking to each other in a crowded room. “I fucking love you, too.”

Her eyes closed, enjoying the sun on her face. The breeze brushing through her hair. The dog leaning against her side as he came to rest with them. The grass cool beneath her. His fingers running lightly along the back of her neck. The corners of her lips raised thinking about the life she had been thrust into. She wasn’t sure that she believed in ghosts or an afterlife at all, but she hoped that her parents could see her happy and successful like they never thought she would be. She wished her sister was able to be there with her in spirit. Looking after her. Feeling proud of her. Although when it really came down to it, she knew that it didn’t matter if Jane was there with her as any sort of apparition or spectre. She was well aware that Jane would have been proud of her no matter what so long as she was happy. Cracking her eyes open, she grinned up at him, finding that he was still beaming right back at her.

He was right. Things were good. They were good. She was content.


	6. Part I: Company Is Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma prepare for some dinner guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this section is going to be 3 parts. I have some plans for this little dinner party.
> 
> Also friends who enjoyed and/or would continue enjoying the Forelsket universe, as soon as I wrap up this guy, I am jumping back in there with Paul, Emma, and all the babies (furry and not). So that's exciting (I'm excited at least like really excited)

“Don’t get so stressed out, Paul,” Emma insisted as she poured Paul another generous glass of red wine. The same he was cooking with. They had been at the grocery store the day prior, meandering down the aisles looking for ingredients they needed to create the dish they would be dining on that evening. When she suggested they buy a cheap bottle of wine, he was adamant that he would just use some of the red that they liked to drink at home. A full-bodied merlot with a finish that tasted both of currants and cloves. He was told by his grandmother to only cook with wine he would drink, so that was what he was planning on doing. She leaned up against the counter beside the stove to look up at him while taking a sip of her own wine. “C’mon, man. They’re just a couple of kids. Don’t make such a big deal out of it.”

He moved the concoction around in the pan a bit, appraising the progress it had made. After placing the lid back over top of it, he turned to her and hesitantly took the large wine glass from her hand. “I don’t know, Em,” he sighed. “I just… we haven’t had people over here. Hell, I hadn’t had people over to my old house in at least a year before everything went down. I just want things to be good and not to fuck it up for you because you really seem fond of this girl and--”

“Hey.” She rested a hand on his chest, stopping him right in his rambling tracks. “It’s going to be fine. I think she’s just stoked that they’re getting a free meal out of it, so stop worrying so much. Everything is going to be okay. Okay?”

Glancing down at her, she could feel his eyes gliding all over her face. Studying her as if he wasn’t already a scholar on Emma Perkinsology. It was something that made her feel warm inside while also making her squirm. She hadn’t ever been with a person who was so content to just gaze at her. So entranced by some part of her she didn’t even know existed. A drunken admission two years prior explained to him that she hadn’t loved or been loved by anyone in this capacity. Some days it terrified her, but more often as time went on, it simply made her heart pound in her chest and a smile burst across her lips. “Okay,” he finally agreed, his own smile returning lightly to his lips. He grabbed the hand on his chest and pressed a light kiss against her palm before leaving it to pull back toward her own chest.

“Okay,” she repeated as an affirmation of sorts. She had invited the not so new girl to come over to their house for dinner along with her boyfriend and sister. An invitation that he thought was a great idea until the day of when he began to act like her mother did prior to her father’s parents coming over for Thanksgiving. Everything was a disaster of a mess even if it wasn’t. Each thing he did was an emergency. Do or die if he, god forbid, didn’t vacuum the living room again. She sat with the dog on one side and the cat on the other, completely amused by him winding himself up. Her mind had wandered back to Hatchetfield momentarily, thinking about what this would have been like there. Bill and Alice coming over for dinner. Tom and Tim coming over when they took their year to host Christmas Eve. She looked up at him, taking a sip of his wine. His face was pink from stress and standing over the hot stove. A few beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. The corner of her mouth tugged up into a smirk. She had it bad for this stupid nerd, and the feeling was completely mutual. The thought made her eyebrows shoot up as she patted his chest again. “Oh shit, I just remembered!” She handed him her wine glass while she dashed across the kitchen. Looking back, she found him with a bewildered look on his face, both wine glasses still in his hands. “Just stay there!”

It was dark upstairs when she pushed into their bedroom. She had grown accustomed to calling it that. One day he stopped referring to it as his room. It became their room.  _ “Our room.” _ She smoothed her hand along the wall until she found the lightswitch. Light flooded the bedroom. A navy blue comforter topped the bed. A king-sized mattress they had finally committed to about a year earlier. The first bit of furniture they had actually purchased for the house. She let her fingers run along the cool wood of the frame at the foot of the bed as she moseyed over to his dresser. Atop the light oak dresser, he had placed a photo. It was a habit she decided to pick up after getting the photo album from back home. Downstairs, there were a number of photos in frames taken on timers. Taken by him because he could get the better angle. Taken by her in moments he wasn’t paying attention. 

But he chose one to keep upstairs. Different than the others. In the photo, they were decked out in all their best winter attire. Her green parka. His navy blue wool peacoat. A grey beanie atop his head. A solid green one atop hers. His scarf peeked out from the top of his coat: a flash of red and green stripes. They stood in front of a Christmas tree that had large multicolored bulbs in between its branches that could be seen shining even in the day. Though, they weren’t looking at the tree. In fact, the tree was merely a backdrop. His arm was wrapped around her back, eyes cast downward to look at her. A smile was wide and bright on his face. She was curled into his side with a hand on his chest. Her mouth was also in the shape of a grin, but her mouth was open as if she was mid-laugh at something he said. They had asked a young girl to take their picture, and in return, one of them would return the favor for her group of friends. Emma was sure she didn’t realize what gold she had struck in the photo she took of them. Because they both agreed that it was one of their favorite pictures.

She ducked her hand into a middle drawer filled with t-shirts, both long and short sleeved. Everything was neatly folded and stacked. He was a retail establishment’s wet dream. Every shirt was folded meticulously with the front facing up, so he was able to tell which shirt he was grabbing without having to dig through them all. In the front right corner of the drawer, she found what she was looking for. A small bag he had hidden there, probably under the impression he was being sneaky, but she had seen him tuck it away from time to time. Him thinking she didn’t notice almost had the endearing feeling of a small child thinking they had fooled someone.

After nudging the dresser closed again and flipping the lights off, she scurried back into the dark hallway and down the stairs. When she returned to the lower level, she could hear music quietly playing. He had taken to listening to acoustic versions of music he previously listened to. A little softer than the originals. Tinkering of acoustic guitars and the occasional ukulele. Tonight it was a version of  _ Lithium _ by Nirvana that featured only Kurt Cobain and a guitar. She bit back a smile as he sang along quietly with a series of ‘heys’ and ‘yeahs’ with his glass in one hand and a wooden spoon to stir the food in the other. Janis was at his feet, brushing against his calves before rolling onto her side, mewing up at him expectantly. Bosco sat at the opposite edge of the room, waiting patiently for his chance to clean up any of the food that clearly hadn’t landed on the floor, but he was hopeful and polite nonetheless.

Sauntering back into the kitchen, she found her spot beside him once again. This time, however, she stood with one hand behind her back. She grinned up at him as he glanced down at her through the wine glass he was taking a sip from. “What?” he questioned upon swallowing a large gulp of wine. She simply took the wine glass from his hand to place on the counter next to her own without saying anything. “Em, what’s that look for?”

“Close your eyes,” she replied. He blinked in response, which prompted an eye roll from her. “Trust me, okay? Close your eyes.” He did as he was instructed, but only after he let out a heavy, overly dramatic sigh. His hand was large in hers. Comfortable and soft. She held his left hand in her right as she reached behind her to fish out what she had run off to grab. Before continuing, she thought about what she was going to do. This wasn’t what she had pictured had her life taken her down this path. Certainly, nothing had gone as planned in years, so she shouldn’t have been surprised about sliding his grandfather’s ring over his left hand in their kitchen before guests came over. But she was. Some part of her had this image of the white dress and the flowers and the first dance. 

As she closed her hand around his, his eyes shot open. “Emma,” he whispered, eyes darting between their hands and her face. “What’s--”

“ _ Well, _ we’re supposed to be married,” she explained without letting go of his hand. “And I mean, Sadie and company aren’t aware that we  _ technically  _ haven’t gotten married, so I guess it’s partially to cover our asses.” She bit down on the inside of her lip. The velvet bag was in her free hand again. The other rings remained inside. The ones that had belonged to his grandmother, who she listened to him speak of frequently with such fondness she almost felt like she knew her. Her shoulders shrugged as another thought crossed her mind. One that had encroached in on her brain more often than not as of late. “And I mean… fuck, if this was all normal, something tells me this is the direction things might have gone in.”

The expression on his face was soft yet confused. Like it wasn’t something he had considered. Any of it. The fake marriage they were in. The real marriage that was never going to happen. She wondered how Ben proposed to Kelly. If it was romantic on top of a mountain or some shit like that. Or if it was quiet at home in the middle of their fucking kitchen. Or if Ben got so brazen to take her out to a public place and ask her in some grand romantic gesture. Either way, it was the past. A past that had the opportunity to exist. 

He reached for the bag, which she willingly gave up to him. His hand held onto her left gently, like he didn’t want to break her or have her turn to dust on him. His hands shook when he took his grandmother’s wedding band out and slid it down over her finger, like he was standing with her in front of all their friends and family with tears brimming in his eyes. His hand held onto the bag, fiddling with one of the draw strings. “Oh man,” he breathed with a hint of a sad chuckle lacing his tone. “I always thought that if I ever got married, I’d use this ring.” He shifted his gaze from their hands to her face. “I never even got the chance to ask you.”

“You have a speech all planned out and everything, Matthews?” she teased, feeling oddly excited with the cool metal around her finger. “Would I have cried? You know it’s tough to make me emotional enough to cry.”

Shaking his head, he looked back down at her hand while running his thumb over her knuckles. “No, I don’t think so at least,” he admitted. “I just would’ve talked about how amazing you are and how often you forget that. Like, you’re so funny and fucking smart… and so beautiful. It feels weird that a regular guy like me could ever end up together with someone so extraordinary. You’re  _ literally _ the girl of my dreams. Even when you’re mean or angry, there’s no one else I would rather spend the rest of my days with.” He sniffed slightly, looking back up at her with a little extra sheen in his eyes. “I have been ridiculously in love with you for a while now. I think before I even knew your name honestly, and now I get to love you every day. And even after everything that happened, I’m so happy to be here with you. You’re… my favorite person to be around.” He squeezed her hand and gave her a close lipped smile. “You’re pretty fucking great, kid. I love you.”

She pursed her lips in an effort to hide the smile that was still lingering on her lips. “I probably would have said yes, you know,” she told him with a shrug. The picture of him in their kitchen--one that didn’t actually get to exist--down on one knee as she finished checking on their food that had been cooking was clear in her mind. A silver band pinched between his fingers as he went on for five straight minutes about how much he loved her. How he never met anyone like her. How she helped him want to be the best version of himself. “Because you’re pretty okay yourself, kid.”

His grandmother’s engagement ring slipped out of the bag easily. A beautiful piece of jewelry. Delicate and solid in size all at once. A timeless little piece of his life she never got to know. “Would you want to…” his voice trailed off, eyes falling to the floor between them. A wave of uncertainty passed over his features even after she had said flat out that she likely would have responded with a ‘yes’. “Would you want to wear this, too?”

Her eyes landed on the ring. She was curious about what Jane’s engagement ring had looked like. Was it Tom’s mother’s ring? A piece he had saved up for months to afford it? Had she been as nervous and excited as Emma was feeling in that moment? Like a little kid being held upside down by their parents and giggling wildly. Like things were turned upside down but that was okay. “I think I could handle that,” was the response she could muster without giving a resounding yes and coming off as overeager. Not just one but two rings stacked on her finger. Silver shining in the overhead lights in the kitchen. She looked from the rings back up to him. This was not how she pictured anything marriage related going, though singing alien zombies had invaded Hatchetfield, so it was probably best to not get attached to anything that might happen. “I think this is the part where we kiss.”

There was no convincing necessary to have him come in to kiss her. His lips were soft and tender. They tasted like merlot. Sweet and spicy all at once. His hands rested on her cheeks, keeping her close to him. Somewhere in the confines of her mind, there was an organ playing the exit processional she had heard in so many movies and TV shows. The kiss felt like better or worse. Like a little slice of forever that had just wound up at her door. A little piece of heaven that had stumbled into her life asking for just a simple black coffee. She snaked her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her level. She smiled against his lips when his arms wrapped themselves around her back.

Even if this was not what she had imagined, she wasn’t upset about exchanging rings with her witness protection husband, nor was she upset about the union P.E.I.P. had created for them. In fact, there was a small part of her that wished she could thank them. For all that she had been given and in turn was able to experience in ways she otherwise would not have been able to. She pulled away from him, staring up into his eyes. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her head. Words were about to come spilling out of her mouth about how much adoration and gratefulness she had for him. How he was nothing she had ever thought she wanted but how silly she felt about that having known him.

But then the doorbell rang.


	7. Part II: Arthropods In Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner guests arrive and that leads to some very interesting conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another little thing. I hope you guys enjoy!

“Hey, guys! Come on in!” Sadie, her boyfriend, and her little sister shuffled through the door at Emma’s greeting, awkwardly huddling into the corner where there was a pile of their shoes. Well, it was mostly Emma’s in a pile. Paul’s were lined up neatly in a row with a sprinkling of hers around them. “Don’t worry about taking your shoes off. No big deal.” He wasn’t in the room, but she could feel him cringing at her allowing shoes in the house. She only did it to appease him, so surely, she wasn’t going to force guests to do it, too. Turning her attention to the two she didn’t know, she extended a hand to the tall young man she assumed to be Sadie’s boyfriend. “Nice to finally meet you. I’m Kelly. Sadie’s boss and fu… life coach, I guess?” The tone was teasing. Sadie rolled her eyes with a lingering grin on her face. 

The young man took her hand in a nervous handshake. He was long and lean. A little stringbean-ish when she actually thought about it. His skin was fair almost as if he hadn’t seen in the sun in quite a few summers. Pale with slate blue eyes. She was taken aback by them. They seemed almost familiar. Like she had seen them somewhere long ago and just couldn’t place them. The corner of his lips quirked up into a smile. “Luke,” he stated simply, running his free hand through the mop of dark curls atop his head. She hummed quietly in response. Whatever the image she had of what her employee’s partner would look like, this wasn’t it. This tall vampire-looking boy in a leather jacket looking like he stepped right out of  _ Grease _ . “Nice to meet ya.”

Beside him, there was a young girl. Maybe fourteen. Emma’s heart ached in her chest. She didn’t look much older than the age Tim would have been had he and Tom made it out of Hatchetfield. Her fingers toyed with the end of a long, ruddy brown braid that fell easily over her shoulder. “Hi there,” Emma greeted. The girl’s warm brown eyes flicked up to her, studied her face briefly before looking back down at her ratty Converse. Emma glanced at Sadie, who looked uneasy at her sister’s actions, before looking back. “Your sister says you like painting.” This caught the girl’s interest, a single brow arching. “Maybe after we eat you can go upstairs. I’ve got a whole studio up there. All sorts of art shit.”

“Hear that, Car?” Sadie piped up, nudging the girl’s shoulder. A small smile hit her lips at her sister’s jabbing, and she nodded. “This is Carly. She’s a little shy, but she’s really a good kid and a wicked good artist, right, Banana?” The use of the pet name caused Sadie to freeze up just for a second. Emma’s brow furrowed at the subtle act. “It’s an old nickname I started to use back home--”

“Listen, you don’t have to explain. My sister called me ‘Peanut’ up into adulthood,” Emma admitted before taking a sip of the wine that was still in her hand. “Let’s go, though. We’ve got Rachael Ray off in the kitchen slaving away.” She looked down at the floor around them, brows furrowing once again. “Or holding the dog. Are you holding the damn dog back in there?”

“Yes, he’s big, and I don’t want him to run everyone over,” Paul called back. The jingle from Bosco’s collar came from somewhere within the kitchen. There was a beat of silence except for the soft sound of Bosco’s tags. She was clearly waiting for him to add to his statement. “I could let him go if you want.”

“Release the hound, baby cakes!” she hollered, only to be greeted by a speeding black blob not even a second later. “Oh hi, bub, these are--” Without taking a second to admire her, the dog was immediately on his back legs with front paws on Carly’s chest. “No, c’mon, buddy where are our manners? We have guests. Just because you do this to me and Dad when we get home doesn’t mean…”

To her surprise, the girl wasn’t horrified or frustrated at all. No, the expression on her face was one of joy. “You’re the shadow,” she whispered as she ran her hand along Bosco’s head. “Webby told me about you.” Who the hell was Webby? What was this girl talking about? Sadie had mentioned her sister had some issues adjusting after the move and that there were some concerns the school had about Carly.  _ “She’s not a basketcase. I swear to fucking god, Kel. She’s just… creative. She’s special. I don’t know how to describe it. You’ve just gotta believe me.” _

Paul rounded the corner into the foyer and immediately had a hand out to rest on Emma’s back. “Hey… hi, I’m Ben,” he stumbled over his words, offering an awkward wave. “Sadie, hi.” He looked at Luke unsure of how to address him. “Hi--”

“Luke.”

“Hi, Luke,” he continued before shifting his gaze to little Carly standing next to the tall young man. Paul’s face seemed to stiffen upon seeing her. Almost like running into a teacher outside of school. Vaguely uncomfortable and nervous. Like he needed to say something to her but just couldn’t muster the words. “Um… hello.”

Carly’s eyes moved from Bosco up to Paul and went wide. “You,” she gasped. The dog didn’t drop from her shoulders. Instead, he simply glanced over his shoulder at Paul with his mouth open, pink tongue hanging out. “Paul.”

Emma shot a look over in his direction, wondering how in god’s name he could have divulged his real identity to someone. Let alone a teenage girl. When would he have even been able to do that? He looked back down at her, shaking his head with shrugging shoulders and eyes just as wide as Carly’s. “Kel, I don’t--”

“No, not Kelly,” Carly interjected, scratching behind the dog's ears. Emma could see his jaw clenched tight. The girl glanced up at her sister with a small smile. “Webby says they’re safe. They’re good.”

A chill ran up Emma’s spine, and she wasn’t sure how to define it. The feeling wasn’t fear. She knew fear. Fear took the face of an old man she once trusted, turned insane by the idea of an alien swarm bringing about world peace. Fear had a string of blue intestines hanging from its stomach as it lurched toward her. Fear was waking up alone on October 21st and having to start all over again. So no, it wasn’t fear she was feeling. More of the sensation one got when experiencing dejavu. Like she had been there before when that was wholly impossible. The air in the room felt stale and tight as if the walls were closing in on them, causing them to breathe in their own hot breaths. 

Carly looked to Paul again. “Webby knows you,” she said matter of factly.

“Who the hell is Webby?” Emma muttered up to him.

“Cavatica,” Carly added. “Webby is Cavatica.”

His eyes widened further and shook his head once more. “No,” he replied. “Nope.”

“What the hell is going on here, P--”

“Paul and Emma.”

“Car, that’s Kelly. That’s my  _ boss _ , kiddo. We need--”

“Lexie, it’s  _ safe _ here. Webby says so.”

“Alright, Banana Split, that’s--”

“They’re from the island.”

The mention of Hatchetfield made the entire room stand still. Time seemed to no longer exist as they all looked to each other for explanations of the girl’s words.  _ The island. _ But no one else made it off the island. That was what they were told in the P.E.I.P. holding facility after their helicopter landed. After they were shipped out to Colorado. They were the only two who had made it. There was no possible way anyone else had made it. It was even less possible that the two groups of survivors would have been able to find each other. Paul’s hand hadn’t left her back, much like his eyes were locked on the seemingly clairvoyant girl. He looked less uncomfortable now and more like he had seen a ghost. Pale and sweating lightly. His hand shook against her back while the other balled into a fist at his side. She could see the hall light bounce off the metal of the ring she had just placed on his finger. Eyes dragged back up to his face. What was happening?

Sadie… or Lexie? Emma wasn’t sure what was happening anymore. The young woman who worked for her was standing much like Paul. Hands in tight fists. Eyes locked on her younger sister. Jaw clenched tightly in discomfort. There was something that had snaked into the room while Emma wasn’t looking. A sense of unease. One of distrust. They had been set up in a beautiful home and a beautiful life, but they had also been lied to continuously. She felt a jolt run through her at the idea of P.E.I.P. having bugged their home. Making it likely that they would be able to hear all about the sudden revelations that were apparently being had. She reached out and gripped Paul’s upper arm. His grandmother’s ring caught slightly against the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Cavatica--”

“No,” he reiterated. “That was just… that was nothing.” He turned his attention to Emma for the first time in what seemed like hours even though it was barely a matter of minutes. “It was just an imaginary friend I had when I was a kid.”

“Not imaginary. Sometimes she’s dreams but not imaginary.”

“ _ Yes, _ imaginary. Completely made up. Hell, she was a giant spider from--”

“Space,” the girl finished. His mouth snapped shut at the word. “Lexie, they’re good. They’re safe.” She turned back to her sister’s boyfriend. “Ethan, it’s  _ them. _ ”

“What the hell is going on here?” Emma cut in, waving her hands around for emphasis. “This is the weirdest fucking dinner party I’ve--”

“Emma Perkins.” Emma blinked at the sound of her name. It had been so long since she had heard anyone but Paul call her by her old name. She liked her name. Something about hearing it out loud from someone else sparked a small fire of joy in the depths of her heart. She watched the girl continue to pet the dog, who had lowered himself to sit beside her, now watching his owners intently. “The protector. You protect him.” 

She thought about the words that wrapped around them. How it hadn’t been her but him to stand as a human shield for the aliens. Every single time for all of his friends, he had put himself in danger for them with a glimmer of hope that he could save them. But she had brought them to Fort Hidgens that was safe at least for a little while. She had gone after him when the aliens had grabbed him after Ted ran off on them. She was the one that forced him to just keep running when Ted went down, already gone by the time they reached him. She was the one who sat with his face in her hands late in the night, consoling him over the guilt that still wracked his soul. 

“All the times she tries to protect you. She told you about her a long time ago.”

His eyes finally left the girl and fell onto Emma like the words hit him differently. Like he finally understood. “Em, I’m… sorry about everything here. I didn’t mean…” his voice trailed off. She thought about what the girl had been insinuating. That she knew his childhood imaginary friend. That she knew  _ them. _ The dreams.  _ “You’re literally the girl of my dreams.” _ It was curious wording, but it never meant anything before. When things still had some hint of normalcy left to them.

“I’m Hannah,” the girl introduced herself finally. “We’re all from the island. Webby says so.”

The idea hung heavy between the adults in the room. A realization that the people they had put their trust in might not be so trustworthy after all. At the very least, they weren’t forthcoming with information that directly affected their lives. An island they had all left behind years before that was suddenly thrust back into their views. Lost lives. Old friends. Distant families. 

Emma looked over to the person formerly known as Sadie, who would barely meet her eyes in return. “So… Lexie, is it?” she wondered.

“Just Lex,” Lex answered, shoving her hands into her pockets.

“Alright, well, Lex, would you like to have a drink with me?” Emma asked, pushing a pin into the balloon that had been filling the air with tension. “Because I could really use a fucking drink, and by the looks of it, you could use something, too.”

A smile touched Lex’s features. “Yeah… um, yeah. That’d be great,” she confirmed. “If you have some Fireball that’d be--”

Emma snorted. “Oh kid, we don’t drink Fireball in this house,” she told her. “But come with me. I’m about to blow your fucking mind.” She nodded toward the kitchen, and Lex followed as directed. “You ever have Jeremiah Weed Cinnamon Whiskey? Because it’s the best damn cinnamon whiskey I’ve ever tasted.” Ethan followed close behind them, likely with the hopes of hopping on the booze train the two were clearly planning on riding full speed ahead. A smile splayed out across his lips as he watched Lex turn to be more animated with Emma as they discussed alcohol preferences.

Carrying the caboose were Hannah and Paul, walking slowly into the kitchen. He watched her closely with a watchful eye, unsure of what to make of her. She looked back at him with eyes light now as if she were trying to communicate that it was okay. “Webby says it’s okay if you can’t see her anymore,” she said plainly. “She--”

“No,” he once again replied to her. This time it was less severe. Something was resigned in his tone. Like he was trapped in a corner with no way out of the place he was put into. “I… um, I don’t… I don’t see her.” She tilted her head to the side, and suddenly, he couldn’t meet her eyes. There were galaxies in the cinnamon brown. Twinges of yellow and green and gold. Like stars had exploded within her irises. “But I can hear her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I'm sorry this isn't sugary sweet goodness, but I'm really excited about it. I'm very excited for part 3 of this dinner.


	8. Part III: A Lesson In Mutual Histories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner gets even weirder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was supposed to be a fluffy fix-it piece but I've started breaking things, so now I've got to keep going I guess.

“Shit, so you’re the girl from Beanies?”

“Well if you call all women over ten years older than you ‘girls’, then yes. Yes, I am the  _ girl  _ from Beanies, and you’re the little shit who used to steal those shitty granola bars.”

They all sat around the wraparound couch. Well, almost all of them. Paul stood behind Emma leaning up against the back of the couch. He had been uptight since the kids had gotten there. Since everything had been revealed. Since they learned that they weren’t the only people who had made it out of Hatchetfield. The intent of the dinner was just to help Lex get out of the house a little bit. She had complained about feeling cooped up. How she felt like it was difficult to make any sort of friend since the big move. She had been looking forward so much to moving away, but then felt more isolated than ever once she was there. Upon letting her vent, Emma had invited her and her brood to their house for dinner. 

“Yeah, but no one was fuckin’ buyin’ ‘em anyway, so I was kinda doin’ you guys a service,” Ethan insisted with a glass of some alcoholic concoction Emma threw together in his hand. His cheeks were tinged pink, and unlike the more stoic look from before, a broad grin spread across his face.

Emma tipped her glass back to sip her whiskey. “Oh, I didn’t give a shit,” she informed him. Reaching over her shoulder, her fingertips came in contact with Paul’s jaw. She gently ran her fingers along his jaw absentmindedly. He grabbed her hand before it could fall back to her side, twisting the rings that remained on her finger. “My boss on the other hand was fucking furious.”

“The one with the curly hair and the big teeth?” Ethan wondered. She nodded in response as she took another swig of her drink. “She was a fuckin’ bitch.”

“Listen, you weren’t working for her, kid. She threatened to fire me every other day for some shit.”

“I liked it better when you were workin’.”

“You only liked it because I didn’t give a shit about you shoplifting and doing a shitty job of it, too, I might add.” She looked across the couch, where he had made himself at home, arms spread out across the back of the couch. One loosely hung behind Lex, who sat beside him with her legs tucked beneath her. Hannah sat on the floor, her legs criss-crossed. On the coffee table was one of Emma’s sketchbooks. Hands worked quickly with small marks and smudges along the once white page. A portrait had appeared on the sheet. An older woman with a long sloping nose and large eyes. Dark hair tucked into curls around her head. Thin lips pressed into a tight line. A hand rested at the woman’s neck, clasping what appeared to be a ring on a necklace chain. Emma glanced up at Paul, who was watching Hannah intently with furrowed brows. “Hey.” She touched his face, voice growing softer, but he didn’t look at her. “You okay?”

For a moment, there was no answer. Her eyes fell from him to across the couch again, where Lex had straightened up to look over Hannah’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. She just goes and goes sometimes,” she explained, running a hand over her little sister’s braid. “It’s great because she has  _ something _ in school that she likes to do, but sometimes the pictures are… a little  _ weird? _ ” She lowered her voice to a whisper as if the person right in front of her could not hear. “The faces are a little… lifelike. Kind of creepy.”

“Not creepy. Real.”

“Right, Banana. I’m sorry. They’re real, I guess.”

Emma looked back to Paul, who was biting the inside of his lower lip as his face twisted up with some sort of emotion she couldn’t place. “Paul, what’s--”

“How did you do that?” he finally asked. The question was directed at Hannah who finally raised her gaze from her drawing to meet his eyes. “How did you--”

“Webby showed me,” the girl stated simply. She tapped the tip of her pencil on the paper beside the portrait. Her eyes narrowed while she looked at her work. Like she was trying to figure something out. It reminded Emma of how Jane looked sitting late at the kitchen table doing her AP calculus homework during her senior year of high school. Focused. Her eyebrows shot up along with her eyes. “Agnes.” He froze, growing stiff beneath Emma’s touch. When she peered over at the drawing, she agreed with Lex that it was almost a little unsettling in its realism. Almost like it was staring right back at her even if she wasn’t staring directly out. Her eyes were cast up and to the right. More in the general direction Emma was sitting in, but the old woman wasn’t looking at her. It seemed like she was looking  _ through _ her. “You know her.” A beat of silence like she was trying to listen to something. “She saw, too.”

Paul’s mouth opened like he was going to respond, but no words came out. Something in his eyes read as somewhere between seeing an old friend for the first time in a long time and total and utter terror. Emma was about to reach out to him again when he finally spoke. “Charlotte A. Cavatica,” he muttered, eyes on the drawing. That was when it hit her. The woman in the drawing was not staying out at her. It was Paul who her drawn eyes seemed to follow. And in that moment, the drawing stopped being so unnerving. It felt watchful. Like it was something that was coming out of hiding. Like it had been there the whole time and only now was coming to light. “It was the spider from  _ Charlotte’s Web.  _ She used to read it to me as a kid every night that first summer.”

Hannah turned to look at her sister. “Webby doesn’t want us to know her name,” she explained sagely. Like it was something that anyone in the room would understand, save for Paul, who was hanging over the couch holding Emma’s hand again as he grew paler by the second. Ethan nudged Lex, who shrugged, shaking her head. He sighed and looked up at the ceiling before draining the rest of his drink. “Not her real name.” She glanced back to Paul, her face becoming serious again. Eyes darted to Emma. “The other one didn’t want to upset you.”

Emma’s fingers stopped trailing along Paul’s jaw. “Didn’t want to upset  _ me?” _ Hannah nodded. “Why would I get upset?”

The girl’s eyes drifted off again like she was listening. When Emma brought her attention to Paul again, he had a similar look on his face, though his brows knit together like he was trying to listen to someone talking to him from another room. He caught her eyes, looking like he could cry. Like there was something twisting up in his guts that he couldn’t tell her. Not couldn’t, perhaps. Didn’t want to tell her. The name left his lips before he could stop it. “Jane,” barely a breath but there.

\--------

“Are you sure--”

“Please,” Emma chuckled quietly. “You’ve had enough to drink that you’re not going to make it down the driveway, and we’ve got like two empty fucking bedrooms. Of course you’re going to fucking stay.”

The corner of Lex’s mouth quirked up into something that resembled a smile. “I’m sorry about everything--”

“Sa… Lex, don’t… apologize. Things are fucky, and I don’t know half of what went on tonight. But hey, we all survived the end of the world, so shit’s going to be weird, right?”

“Thank you, Emma.” It was an odd moment between two people who had grown to know each other over a number of months, who turned out to know virtually nothing about each other, yet the truth was they were a group of people who knew more about each other’s past than anyone else. They lingered in the doorway with no words left to go between them for the night. Everything that remained was suspended like webs in the air, attaching them together with some invisible force. 

A loud snore broke through the quiet air between them. Beyond Lex in the bedroom, Ethan had sprawled out across the white comforter Paul used to have atop his old bed, which was now in that very bedroom. After the several drinks Emma was more than happy to refill throughout the night as she topped her own drink off. With a roll of the eyes, Lex shrugged with a heavy sigh that morphed into something reminiscent of a chuckle. “Get some sleep,” Emma insisted. “I’m placing your fucking boyfriend under citizen’s arrest in the morning under suspicion that he stole some… fucking… shittyass expired granola bars in a town that doesn’t fucking exist anymore. Also for drinking all my goddamn rum.”

They left the conversation at that, and Emma turned to venture down the hallway to slip into the bedroom. Paul sat on their bed facing away from her. She let the door click shut on the dark hallway behind her, resting against it once it was closed. He looked over his shoulder. Beyond him, he held something in his hand, rolling it around his palms. Shining in the light of the bedside lamp he had turned on. His grandfather’s ring he had worn all night. “Hey,” he whispered, sounding completely drained.

She wrung her hands in front of her. Suddenly, she was self conscious about the rings she wore. Feeling like she was a stranger in someone else’s skin. An imposter living someone else’s life. Like she was an actor in a show that couldn’t stop with the fucking twists and turns. Without removing them, she crossed the room to stand in front of him. He lifted his eyes to meet hers. Soft and blue and sad. “Emma, I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” he whispered.

Downstairs, the mention of her sister had brought everything to a screeching halt. She had demanded to see the drawing that had been taken down at some point during dinner when none of them had been paying attention. Even when he insisted she shouldn’t.  _ “Show it to me.” _ The face that stared off of the page was, in fact, Jane. One that she never knew. Gently aged with hair wild and free. Curlier than her own. A streak of grey at her right temple. The eyes looking at her off of the paper. Like they were real. A photo added into a drawing. The drawing’s lips were just barely quirked up into a smirk. Like she had just revealed that the name of her son was purposefully done to confuse it with her husband’s. It was a Jane she didn’t know. One she never got to meet.

_ “I didn’t know. I saw the car crash so much,” _ Paul had said without being prompted, voice panicky.  _ “Glass and metal all over the place. It was always dark. Raining too. I’d wake up and it would be so cold. It was cold and the car was twisted up like someone smushed it like a fucking piece of paper. And there was so much glass everywhere. All over the road. It looked like someone smashed a million windows and scattered the remnants all over the road. I… saw her. I didn’t know her. She was in the passenger seat. As a kid, I thought she was asleep.” _ He buried his face in his hands.  _ “I thought she was you for a while, Emma. Once I met you… you just looked alike. Then the crash would be gone and everything got fuzzy. Singing and fighting and everything… everything was just bad after. I’m sorry, Em. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. The dream started again after we met, and I just got fucking drugs to put me to sleep. I didn’t want to see it anymore. But it’s been happening out here and it’s gotten weird. It just got worse, and I thought it was you. I thought it was going to happen, and I didn’t... I’m so sorry.” _

“Em, I just… I didn’t know it was--”

“Hey.” She reached out to hold his face in her hands. Jane was fresh in her mind. What she would have done or said, but truthfully, Emma didn’t know what she would have done in any situation. She was always just left to assume that Jane would do anything and everything better than her. At the end of the day, though, she didn’t know her sister. They didn’t know each other despite Jane’s constant reaching out. She certainly was not the same angry eighteen year old Jane had last seen, and she was positive that Jane was not the same overachieving goody two shoes that was away at college when she left the island. So she was left to do what Emma would do in this situation. One where emotions were awry and palpable in the air. A somber blanket hung over them, swaddling them in things left unsaid. “I love you.”

A bit of relief washed over his face as he let out a breathy, watery laugh. He grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. With a soft and melancholy smile, he pulled the hand in front of him. “You kept them on all night,” he commented, running his thumb over his grandmother’s engagement right. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

_ “She grabbed my ankle when I was passing by and just kept saying your name over and over and over again. It felt like a nightmare. She wouldn’t let go. Then I’d wake up next to you, and it would be okay. But it would be nights on fucking end. Then it felt like I heard it throughout the day. On top of everything fucking else that went down, this shit kept happening. It’d be this wreck and then immediately flash to Bill or Charlotte or Alice. Nothing made sense. I’d be at that wreck and then watch fucking… Charlotte beat the shit out of some guy at the mall and kill him, I think. Then it’d be back to Alice walking out of the choir room like a broken fucking puppet. Then this woman holding onto my ankle hissing your name.” _

“Well, it’s for better or worse, right?”

_ “Webby says she’s in the Black and White. Webby protects her. They want to get her, but Webby won’t let them.” _

“We’re not married, Emma.”

“Not with that attitude we’re not.” He cracked a smile as he dropped his head against her chest. “It’s not like the whole party and shit matters anyway, right? It’s about the feeling, I think. I don’t fucking know. I think I heard that in a movie or some shit like that.” He let out a light chuckle once again. “I don’t know much about this whole long term relationship thing or how people feel when they get fucking married, but I’m pretty sure this is as close as I’m going to get because I love you and you love me. And I’m all in. I’ve been all in for a long time, Paul.”

His arms wrapped around her back, pulling her close to him. Breaths were hot against her neck as his face pressed against her skin. Lips touched the nape of her neck. “I love you,” he breathed against her with another kiss. “I love you.” His one hand pressed flat against her back. The other held the simple silver band in a fist. “I love you.” She pulled from him slightly. Enough that she could slip her shirt over her head. He stared up at her, hands hovering above her bare sides. Her palms found his cheeks again as she met his lips with her own. Tender and gentle. Speaking words she did not know how to translate. Bringing him close to her. One hand rested on her hip while the other laid against the back of her neck. Quiet and warm. She just wanted to feel his skin against hers. Something tangible that would tell her that things were still real. That this was real and not a dream. Not some fucked up side effect of the Hatchetfield blue pill they all had been forced to take. “I love you,” he whispered one more time against her lips before she pulled his shirt over his head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to go more into this Webby thing and the Hatchetfieldverses. I have a lot of thoughts. Also MORE LEX ETHAN AND HANNAH TBH.


	9. A Mild Dose of Radiation Never Hurt Anyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma gets a table dropped on her foot. Paul takes her to the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH SHIT HERE WE ARE. I've been thinking about this a lot lately and needed to write it.
> 
> It's a few months down the line from the dinner with the kiddos, so there's that.

All Emma had wanted was to go get a fucking x-ray of her fucking foot.

Nothing fancy. No tests of any kind. Just a run of the mill x-ray. Maybe an MRI. She didn’t know how that shit worked. Truthfully, she hadn’t been injured since she was a kid, so the hospital was really a foreign entity as of late. There were so many people buzzing all around. Different machines whirring and beeping. It all smelled like antiseptic, which nearly made her vomit upon being wheeled out of the waiting room. That should have been her first clue that this was going to be a trip that was not going to go at all how she expected.

She sat on an exam table with her feet dangling, one slightly enlarged compared to the other. When the doctor had finally done a physical exam of it, he had decided that despite her discomfort it wasn’t broken. Just some intense bruising and swelling that would likely clear up in a few days. She knew that Paul was overreacting when he told her she had to go to the ER, but he had been going on for hours before she finally gave in. About how it could be more serious. How a blood clot could form and become dangerous. Every worst case scenario came falling out of his mouth like an avalanche rolling through the mountains.

“Ms. King?” the doctor’s voice cut through her thoughts. She blinked before glancing up at the woman’s soft tired face. The doctor had been very nice the entire visit. Patient through all the questions she rolled through per Paul’s request. Laughed quietly at all of her stupid jokes. “Is anyone here with you?” Her mind was blank staring up at the doctor. All she could think about was how her afternoon wasn’t fucking going like she wanted it to. How she wished her grip had been a little better on the table she and Lex had been moving a few days before in the backroom of the shop. “Kelly?”

Shaking her head, she glanced back down at her feet. “Yeah, my… uh, husband is out in the waiting room,” she replied, trying her best to not make it sound like a question. She and Paul had been playing house for a while now. Wearing rings and acting like a married couple might. Giving him a short peck each time he dropped breakfast off for her, which became more frequent as the days went on. Smiling down at texts from him whenever he made it home safely. Coming home to a romantic dinner curated by chef Paul himself. She continued to wear his grandmother’s rings until it became a habit to slip them on in the morning. Until it became a comfort to twist them around her finger throughout the day. Until it became apparent that it made him very happy to see her wear them. “He’s… the, um, uncomfortable looking one that’s all red.”

The doctor nodded. Emma really couldn’t even remember the last time she had been to a doctor’s office. Usually, she just muscled through illnesses with plenty of water, sleep, and Advil. Sprains and pulls would mend themselves with a good amount of rest. God, the last time she had gone to any doctor was before she left for Guatemala just to get updated on her shots. “What’s his name?” There was the base they were held at after the meteor when they landed in Clivesdale. They had been poked and prodded well into the night. Making sure that there was no possible trace of infection in them. She could remember feeling so exhausted and uptight about the entire day that she didn’t care about the lights shining in her eyes or the blood being drawn from her arm. She did remember asking about Paul. About what happened to him once they had been separated at the helipad. When she looked back on it, she was fairly certain it was that night she fell in love with him. Somewhere between running with him out of Beanies and feeling him untying her wrists after Hidgens went off the deep end, he had made a home in her heart. 

“Ben,” she answered. The names never really got easier. Mostly because they used their real names at home. When they were in private, it didn’t make sense to use Kelly or Ben. They knew very well that they were not those people. They were Emma Perkins, a smalltown fuck up with a bad temper and a fowl mouth, and Paul Matthews, a corporate square who had gotten so caught up in his auto pilot life he forgot how to be happy. There was no dancing around that fact. No matter how much of a clean slate they were given, they couldn’t escape the pasts that were still very real in their minds. 

The door clicked closed behind the doctor as she went to retrieve Paul from the waiting area of the ER. He had to be losing his mind. They had been there much longer that he probably thought they would be, so he was likely going through his doomsday scenarios on loop. Whatever could go wrong was in his head. Emma couldn’t help but let out a short silent chuckle at the image. He was always worrying. Always wanting to make things better but worrying it wouldn’t happen. Sometimes, he would refer to her as his voice of reason. Like she was grabbing onto his ankle to keep him from up and floating away with panic. 

Through the cheap blinds on the window to the room she had been in for the past hour, she could see the doctor speaking with a very red Paul. His brows were furrowed while he nodded at whatever was being said to him. The first time she could remember noticing him was back at Beanies. He had come in everyday for a solid week at the same time each day. 7:03 AM on the dot as though this were a part of some very stringent ritual he committed to each morning. He would come in wearing that suit. Well variations of what she assumed was the same suit. Brown and black. He would come in and say something stupid to her. Friendly but ultimately dumb. The Friday of that week, she watched his expression go from nervous to elated when she smiled at him and mused about him getting a black coffee again. His eyes lit up. Big and blue and curious. 

Those same eyes caught her through the slats in the blinds before the doctor guided him into the room. Without another word, he had crossed the room to the table and pulled her up into his arms. His breaths were shallow in her ear. Like he was coming down from one of his nightmares. Arms were tight around her. For a moment, she thought about asking him to try not to squeeze her too tightly, but instead, her own arms wound around his back. “Easy there, slugger,” she chuckled, hand finding the back of his neck, where her thumb stroked against his skin. “Didn’t think I was going to die of a broken foot, did you?”

That was what the argument had been. All the terrible things that could have happened from such a simple injury and how he was terrified about it. She, on the other hand, knew she would be just fine. That he was just being ridiculous and overreacting.  _ “I just can’t lose you, too! Okay?” _ The words had left his lips loud and exasperated. His hands had been thrown down at his sides.  _ “So please, just go for my peace of mind if for nothing else, Emma.” _ She did think it was over the top, but she went without another question. 

He pulled back from her. Their eyes met once again. “I was just worried,” he whispered. A hand rested on her cheek as he continued to gaze down at her. The way he looked at her made her giddy and want to squirm all at once. She could only imagine this was what married people wanted. What they should have had. Someone to watch them with the utmost adoration. Almost like he was in awe of the fact that he got to exist on the same plane as her. “That’s it.”

She leaned into his touch, hoping she was translating just how much she felt the same for him in her own stare. How much she loved him. How she had fallen in love with him so deeply. “Well, no need to worry too much, big guy,” she informed him, patting his side with her hand. “Just some gnarly bruising. I’ll be out of commission for a few days, but otherwise, the doc over here has been taking real good care of me.” Nervousness bubbled up in her gut. She wondered if this was how he felt all the time. Watching his eyes anxiously flick over her face, she swallowed down the lump that was beginning to form in her throat. A stupid foot injury was about to flip their worlds upside down.  _ “But… _ we’ve got some news.”

Once more, his eyebrows knit together. He glanced from her to the doctor, hand falling from her face only to be scooped up by her own. “So when we were deciding about what kind of imaging we were going to do, we’ll usually run some routine tests just to make sure there won’t be any sort of adverse side effects from the radiation involved.” The doctor had opened up a manilla folder she had been carrying around. “It’s a very small amount, but you’ve got to cover all your bases.” He nodded, still a little confused. The doctor smiled over at him. “And we discovered that Kelly here is pregnant.”

From the table, Emma watched his face go from confused to shocked. Face went from pink to pale. Eyebrows raised just about as far as they would go. She could feel the clamminess in the palm she held. Children were never a topic of conversation between them. It wasn’t even an avenue they would have considered going down really. They were content with just the two of them, slowly moving through their own respective traumas, childhood and otherwise. There was no real want to bring a new person into the fucked up world, but here they were. She had no idea what to expect as a reaction.

But as soon as she was beginning to wonder how he would react, she was pulled back into his arms. More gently this time around. “Oh my god, Em,” he breathed. It was quiet enough she knew the doctor wouldn’t hear. His hand tangled itself into her hair. Her breaths were labored against his neck. The lump was rising once again. She didn’t know why she felt like crying, but it was like the dam was about to break. He backed away just slightly, enough that he could look at her. The hand from the back of her head landed on her cheek. “Are you okay?” It was a seemingly innocuous question, but one that made her heart lurch in her chest no less. The discussion hadn’t been had between them about a situation like this. It was really meant to be just the two of them and their cat for the rest of forever. A baby was never a part of that, and it seemed that before he was choosing to react he wanted to make sure that this situation was okay for her.

She bit down on the inside of her cheek, nodding while blinking back the tears the lump in her throat was bringing with it. “Yeah,” she responded just barely above a whisper. A small smile sprouted on her lips. “Yeah, I’m good.” A lot had happened to them in the last few months. They had discovered they weren’t the only survivors from the Hatchetfield disaster, effectively adopted two relatively functional young adults and a mildly psychic teenager, gotten “married”, and become expectant parents. This was the most action packed her life had been since the whirlwind of returning to Hatchetfield after Jane died. He leaned in and gently pressed his lips to hers. Soft. Tender. A warm tear slid down her cheek. She pulled back and knocked her forehead against his. “At least my foot isn’t broken.”

A small laugh came out of him. His eyes were glossy with unshed tears of his own. “Good news all around, I guess,” he chuckled before she was in his arms once more. She wrapped her own arms around the back of his neck. Holding onto him tightly. The one person who seemed to be able to weasel his way into her life and turn it upside down. The one person who made having a normal stable life appealing. The one person who made settling down feel less like a ball and chain and more like an ornate paperweight that kept everything from flying away. The one person she had ever really been in love with. 

And oh god, did she love him.


	10. The Baker and the Sentient Oven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Paul have a chat by the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GLAD EVERYONE IS STOKED TO BE BACK IN COLORADO. I'm having a pretty fun time with it as well.

The fireplace in their house was one of Emma’s favorite things in their house. To be fair, she liked a lot of things about the house. A good portion of that was because it was being funded by the government’s dollar, but it also had become more of a home as time went on. It was comfortable. Happy. Something she never had during her entire existence. The house felt full even when it was just the two of them, a cat, and a dog. Well, for now.

A fire crackled quietly as they both curled up in the overstuffed armchair that had been so nicely provided to them upon their arrival in Colorado. The furniture was stiff and uncomfortable when they first moved in. She could remember laying in her bed and thinking about how much she missed her shitty twin mattress that was probably still strewn across the floor of her studio apartment. At least it felt lived in. Like it knew her a little better. There was some comfort in the familiarity that disappeared that first year away from the island. It was as though she and Paul were two ships passing in the night, sometimes never speaking a word to one another, only to sleep in two too firm beds that felt foreign.

“What’re you thinking about?” he hummed. His fingers trailed up and down her bare back. She nestled into him, tucking her legs up beside him. A heavy throw blanket that normally laid out over the back of the couch was loosely wrapped around them. The dark of the house was thick and calming. She had no idea what time it was. All she knew was that it was snowing. Again. It snowed all the time. Not that they weren’t used to that from living in Hatchetfield. Living out in the middle of nowhere, though, really made the isolation apparent during the periodic blizzards. It really was just them. And the cat.  _ And _ the dog. She thought that after several winters in Colorado she would be used to it, but the silence was still all consuming sometimes. 

She laid her head out against his shoulder, which prompted a soft kiss into her hair from him. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, gazing out at the fire. His skin was warm against hers. He really was like a human furnace, which was fantastic on cold winter nights. Not as great in the summer, but as time went on, she decided his pros outweighed this particular con. “Mostly about how you didn’t take your socks off to fuck me.”

He threw his head back against the back of the chair. “Jesus, Emma,” he groaned. A stupid lopsided grin spread across her lips. She couldn’t stop it. He made her smile like no one else. “When was I supposed to take ‘em off? It’s not exactly something you can just… I dunno…  _ gracefully _ do.” She craned her neck to look up at him, only to find that he, too, had been watching the fire roar on. Since the first time they  _ really _ talked--the day prior to the almost end of the fucking world--his face had changed a little. There was far less pink in his cheeks when they spoke and a lot less nervous sweating. Something a little lighter had replaced whatever had hung in his eyes back on the island and even when they first arrived in Kelly and Ben’s home. Something a little joyful. Something bright. He also looked tired, though. Like a man who had walked for miles and miles across endless mountains, scorching deserts, frigid tundra, any terrain she could possibly think of. Like he had spent nights on end plagued by nightmares of events he wished he could forget. His eyes shifted down to her. He smiled softly. “You’re just giving me shit.”

Her hand reached up from beneath the blanket to grip his chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Yes, dear, I’m just giving you shit.” The pet name had him rolling his eyes. It was one she specifically saved for those particular moments wherein she was giving him shit. “Oh, don’t give me that.” He pursed his lips to keep from smiling wider at her. “You can’t even stop smiling to give me shit, you fucking dork.” She watched him bite down on the inside of his cheek. His cheeks were flushed. Eyes a little glazed. “You're also drunk, so I’ll give you a pass this time.”

He snorted. “Oh, thank  _ god _ ,” he sighed dramatically. His hand wrapped around her hip, thumb grazing against her skin. A shiver ran down her spine as it often did, which she chose to ignore. She could just hear her sister in the back of her mind going on about fucking soulmates and electricity and all that shit. It wasn’t anything she bought into before and wasn’t something she was going to start buying into anytime soon. But she did like this big warm drunken nerd. “‘Cause I wasn’t the one who decided I needed to drink  _ twice _ as much just because you couldn’t have any. I didn’t sign up for that.”

“Yes, you sure fucking did,” she challenged with a laugh lingering in her voice. She arched a brow at his mildly bewildered face. “You think you had nothing to do with this, big dick Paul?” He blinked at her. “Oh yeah, buddy, this is half your fucking fault. I don’t get to take all the credit.” The smile began to break out on his lips again, though there was a little bit of a puzzled look in his eyes. “You don’t get to blame the oven for baking you fucking muffins. You fucking put them in there.”

A bout of laughter burst from him. It rang out through the quiet dark house. Somewhere in the kitchen she could hear the jingle of the dog’s collar at the sudden noise. She grinned. His arms wrapped tightly around her as he buried his face in her hair. “You’re the funniest person I’ve ever met,” he giggled. He was vibrating with laughter still. Usually, he would laugh at her jokes. Even the stupid ones that weren’t meant to be that funny. At first, she was sure he was just buttering her up. There was no one who had ever been so entertained by her. However, he wasn’t bullshitting her. He never did. “The funniest.” He kissed the top of her head again. “Prettiest.” Another. “Coolest and smartest person ever.”

Emma Perkins a few years earlier would have scolded him. As it was, she couldn’t deny the blush that was spreading across her face. “Shut up nerd,” she groaned, burying her face against his shoulder. “You’re just being nice to me because I fucking puked my guts out this morning.” He wasn’t, which was something she was aware of, but old habits had the tendency to not be snubbed out that easily. “But if you wanted to, you could keep going.”

His chest rose with a deep breath in. “I dunno, Em,” he murmured, resting his chin on top of her head. “It’s easy to be nice to you.” All the years spent fighting with her parents were front and center in her mind. “You’re… amazing. The most amazing person I’ve ever met honestly.” Every single time she was told she was not as good as Jane was ringing loudly in her ears. “I… I dunno. I just love you.” So many nights had been spent alone thinking she was going to stay that way forever, and she had been fine with it. Not having to count on another person being there or having to be present for another person were both very appealing things, yet there she was in this naked drunk man’s lap. Wrapped up in his arms. Enjoying the warmth of his skin and the fire burning away in their fireplace. “That’s it, I guess. I love you.”

She shifted to be able to look up at him again. This time, he was staring right back at her. There was no way for her to deny the smile on her face. He mirrored her with his own bright grin. “Is it because you knocked me up?” she teased, which sent his eyebrows shooting up. “This has been a long con to get me to bear your seed, hasn’t it?” His brows furrowed and eyes narrowed before he was leaning down to her. Their lips met, a chuckle rising from her gut. One of his hands found the back of her head, tangling with her curls. The other rested gently on her hip. “That sounds like a yes to me.”

With their lips still connected, he shook his head. The arm still under the blanket wrapped around her back. This time, he was more careful to not squeeze her too tightly. He had been doing this from time to time since that fateful trip to the ER. At first, he would wind his arms around her, scooping her up tightly against him until he realized what he was going. Then, it would turn into slightly panicked backtracking where he loosened his grip on her. “Nooooo,” he chuckled, smiling against her lips. “‘Cause I loved you the first time I saw you.”

She pulled back from him slightly. He wore a vaguely dazed look on his face as his eyes trailed from her lips up to her eyes. “Are you serious?” she wondered. It was a genuine question. She was never one to believe in something like love at first sight. That was some hokey shit they made up in order to sell cheesy romance novels and crappy Hallmark movies, but the way he looked at her with such awe and adoration made her feel like he was telling the truth. “Paul?”

A close lipped smile crossed his face. He nodded. “Yup,” he answered plainly. At least drunk Paul was honest. She had to give him that despite her heart now racing in her throat. “I came into Beanies b’cause Starbucks was under construction… but they didn’t even do anything so I don’t fuckin know why they closed, y’know?” She exhaled a silent laugh at his rambling. “But  _ anyway, _ yeah, I walked in there to get coffee because my coffee maker broke, and th’new one wasn’t gonna be at my house for like another week.” The hand in her hair moved to brush hair away from her face before resting on her cheek. “And you were there yelling at some dude in front of me.” He leaned in close to her, whispering, “And for real, I was a little turned on.” She barked out a laugh but didn’t move from his touch. “Then it was my turn, and I was doin the thing where I talk too much and say stupid shit because I was like, ‘oh shit, she’s hot.’” Another laugh left her, stomach flipping at the thought of him just immediately liking her. “ _ Then _ you were rude to me because you gave me the wrong order, and I asked to get the right one.”

Groaning, she drove her face into his neck. “No,” she moaned with a laugh. “And they say romance is dead.” She couldn’t even remember this meeting. The first time he came he didn’t stand out in her mind, making her feel surprisingly self conscious. He liked her immediately, but she couldn’t even recall him first coming into that shitty coffee shop. She pulled out of his neck to look into his eyes again. His hand found her cheek once more, fingers cool against her cheeks. “If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn’t have been a fucking dick if I knew you like I know you now.”

“I wouldn’t change it,” he told her, not skipping a beat with his answer. “I kinda like that you’re a dick.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Liked that you were a dick then, too. I left and drank like two sips of that shitty coffee and then dumped it, but you bet your ass I came back the next day… and the next day… and--”

“I fucking get it.” Maybe she didn’t remember when they technically first met, but she could pick out the moment she really noticed him. It was maybe a month before everything went down. Their eyes caught each other as she wiped down the counter that had gotten covered in milk during an unfortunate latte accident. He was trying to muscle his way through dealing with an unbearably perky Zoey. When she caught him looking at her and his eyes darted away from her, she couldn’t help but feel like he really wanted to talk to her. She just kept cleaning, though, but as he told her, he came in again and again and again until one day she finally brought herself to ask.  _ “I see you in here all the time, don’t I? What’s your name?” _ Then the world ended. Now, they were having a baby. The way life decided to go was a little strange sometimes, but for once in her life, she didn’t feel like complaining. “I love you, too, though. You know that, right?”

He smiled at her. A full toothy grin. “Yeah, I do,” he replied. A soft kiss pressed against her lips. The crackling of the fire fell into the distance. She kissed him again. And again. And again. Just hoping that she could translate a fraction of the feelings he stirred in her. How much she really had fallen head over heels for him. How each and every cliche she had heard about love made more sense to her now. How she quite simply adored the crap out of him, and despite all the terrible shit that had happened, she was happy to have made it through with him.


End file.
